astra inclinant
by RememberThePetrichor
Summary: "And so you'll ask me to let the bird go then, Rosi?" he said, "Is that my gift to you?" Or the one world in ten billion where Doflamingo tries really damn hard. And it's no prettier world by far. A tale of madness, blood and two brothers searching for each other in the dark. (An AU retelling of the Donquixote brothers)
1. astra inclinant

**astra inclinant - "the stars incline us"**

* * *

On Rosi's sixth birthday, Doflamingo tried to kill a bird.

It wasn't his fault. The nest was settled on the lowest branch, the four speckled eggs hidden inside like gemstones. He was just curious and wanted a better look. He even climbed up the tree on his own instead of having one of the slaves act as a stepladder.

He wasn't going to do anything. He didn't mean any harm.

The bird was too stupid to understand that. It flew at him through the copse, beak drilling down on his hand just as he'd edged close enough to the nest. Doflamingo gasped, more out of surprise than pain and fell from his perch.

It wasn't a fatal height. He didn't even bruise, the grass cushioning his fall, but for a moment, Doflamingo sat there, stunned, the impact vibrating through his limbs.

Then the bird dove at him again and Doflamingo saw red.

With one swipe, he trapped it in his hands. It began flailing immediately, screeching and squawking. It was smaller than he'd initially thought. His hands, large for a child (Mother had even said it was a sign he would grow up to be a very tall man indeed), pinned down the wings with ease.

The creature was very fragile, spindly barely-there bones behind a mass of white-gray feathers. They were like toothpicks. Would they snap like toothpicks too?

Eyes were on him. The wide, dull ones of slaves. They'd stopped working, a gaggle of pale and silent faces. Some of the females had hands over their mouths. Doflamingo smiled, strangely giddy. _An audience._

"Brother?"

The slaves parted like the sea. Rosi stepped into the courtyard, jangling birthday boy trinkets and gold as he approached. The bird made another warble of distress, weaker now than before.

He didn't like the way Rosi gasped when he saw it. How his expression matched those of the _inferiors._ Doflamingo frowned, relaxing his grip momentarily. He didn't stand.

"…What do you want, Rosi?"

"M-Mama was looking for you. Said you should greet the guests."

The frown deepened. The "guests" were kiss-ups and sycophants, leeching onto the family name. Trying to curry favor with their father at Rosi's birthday feast of all things. Pathetic.

"Hmm, tell her I'm coming."

* * *

xxx

* * *

(In ten billion worlds, Rosinante just nodded and hurried away. He did not much like being in his big brother's company when his face took on that light. It made Rosinante quiver somewhere in his soul.

He barely managed that final glance backwards at all. Doffy was smiling, a thumb pressed over the bird's head. It was a smile that never reached his eyes.

Rosinante turned the corner and ran).

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Doffy…" Rosi asked him softly, "why do you have that bird?"

Doflamingo looked down. The thing was fighting for breath, tiny heart drumming against his fingertips.

"It's been a very bad bird," he said, "I need to punish it."

A distraught noise slipped past his brother. Rosi took a step forward.

"Father said hurting others is wrong."

Doflamingo rolled his eyes. _Father._ Several times already Doflamingo had had to openly defend him against the insipid gossip of the Celestial Dragons. He was too humble, they would say, too soft and ill-fitted for Mariejois. Just thinking about it summoned a ripple of annoyance within him.

"Father isn't here."

He applied more force, closing his hands until the fingers almost clasped and the bird began chirping in pain. Doflamingo's mouth twitched and something at the back of his mind shivered. _Father isn't here…_

" _Stop it!_ "

Rosi's hands were around his wrists. They were clammy, despite the warmth of the day, and they were surprisingly strong. Strong enough to yank Doflamingo fully around. Rosi's face was white. He looked…scared? Doflamingo stared at him.

"Stop, Doffy," Rosi stammered, voice timid, "Please, i-it's just a bird. Come on, you're making Mama worry. Please, let it go."

The courtyard melted away. Time. Space. The slaves. Rosi had touched him, even though he knew Doflamingo didn't like to be touched. Not unless he initiated first. Not unless _permission was granted._

Doflamingo looked at his brother and for a second was angry. Deeply angry. So angry the crimson haze was starting to blur his surroundings again.

"Doffy?"

The hands around his wrists tightened. They shook him, once but firm, and the haze began dispersing. His vision re-focused and rearranged into Rosi's face. It wore the same faint worry their parents would sometimes make at him when they thought he wasn't looking.

Usually, it bothered him, but the feeling wasn't coming this time. Exasperation was surging forward instead, flushing away the rest of his anger. He scowled, relaxing slightly.

"Why should I?"

Rosi obviously hadn't thought that far, because he faltered. There was something funny about watching his brother panic and grasp for a reason. Trying so hard for a stupid animal. Mysterious little Rosi who was just like Father.

Eventually though, his brother's eyes lit up. Doflamingo's brows furrowed at the serious, slightly reproachful expression he suddenly adopted, copied almost completely from their mother.

"You," Rosi declared, "still owe me a birthday present."

What.

" _Huh?_ No I don't, fool. Father and Mother bought you plenty of presents already."

A whole mountain actually. He was quite sure there was an entire hall now dedicated solely for their past birthday presents. His brother shook his head.

"I don't care about those. I want one from _you_." He was speaking quickly, like he was half excited and half afraid of losing his nerve. "You're my big brother right? So you owe me a present. It only makes sense."

It didn't make sense at all. But Rosi was so sincere, like he whole-heartedly believed it. He was almost puffed up and Doflamingo tilted his head a little, amused. Something softened oddly in his chest and loosened like a knot.

"And so you'll ask me to let the bird go then, Rosi?" he said, "Is that my gift to you?"

Surprise flashed over his brother's face, bared open for the world. Then he nodded eagerly and Doflamingo thought about how hopeless he was.

The little hands were looser on his wrists now, one falling completely away, while the other curled against his sleeve. He knelt into the grass beside him.

"Yes, Doffy," his brother said, "It would make me so happy. Please. Can't you...can't you do this for me?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

(In ten billion worlds, Doflamingo could not.

He crushed the bird, snapping its spine and neck instantly, and confirmed that _yes,_ they sounded remarkably like toothpicks.

Rosi cried out, eyes beading with tears and glittering like shattered glass. He ran for their mother and Doflamingo was scolded, spending the next week and a half being avoided by his little brother. It took a lot of crooning and sweet-talking to lure him back. He had to apologize for the dumb bird, even if the words were hollow and weightless on his tongue.

Rosi believed him anyway. Maybe he was desperate to believe him. That year, their father announced they would be departing Mariejois to settle among the common folk.

The rest went to brimstone and fire. To a darkness Doflamingo would leap headfirst into without a thought. There would be many more little birds to come.

And he would never remember this day again, even though his brother would see it every single night for the rest of his life).

* * *

xxx

* * *

On Rosi's sixth birthday, Doflamingo wrapped an arm around his younger brother's shoulders, accepting the sudden and rather clumsy hug. Rosi was beaming and Doflamingo sighed. He settled a hand in the mess of wavy hair and smiled faintly back.

A bird soared towards the sky.

* * *

xxx

* * *

What could he say about the lower world?

Well, in the simplest of terms, it was educational.

In fact, as more time passed, it became abundantly apparent to Doflamingo just how much he had never known, residing behind Mariejois's crystalline gates. The realm below brimmed with sin and terror and lessons ( _lessons Lessons_ ) to be learned.

And god, the things he had learned.

Like what it meant to be cold.

( _The town burned it all. Their furniture and finery. Their silks and velvets and mountains of toys. What they could salvage they eventually burned themselves. Anything to keep that ramshackle hut warm. Anything to keep winter from seeping through the walls. Rosi shared a bed with him and they tucked their feet against each other. Doflamingo held his brother as close as he could. "You're freezing," Rosi would still say, hand pressed over his heart_ ).

To be hungry.

( _They found molded bread in the garbage, sometimes yellowed vegetables and if they were lucky, the occasional sliver of meat still hanging off the bone. The alleys behind restaurants were the best. Rosi hated going, afraid of the rats that lurked in the dumpsters. He clung to Doflamingo's arm, pressed up against his spine. He got in the way and so Doflamingo skewered the biggest, fattest rat of them all and made Rosi eat it. Squashed the fear right into a stain. They ate rats a lot more after that. Two birds and one stone_ ).

To hurt.

( _Mother wilted and died like a flower. So quickly. Not even a year. It was the filth of this place, the thirst and pain, which killed her. But she still smiled when she went, stroking his hand. She never did blame Father, even though it was_ _ **all his fault**_ _. Rosi cried for three days straight. There were times after, when he would simply stop moving, even during their scavenges for food. He would freeze up where he was, fists clutched in his grubby shirt and convulse with unwept tears. Doflamingo would get a savage urge then to strike him. Leave him. He shoved it down. He would never after all. Never ever ever_ ).

To hate.

( _The only burns that hurt, after the night they were found, were the rope burns. Doflamingo didn't know why this was so hilarious to him. Father rummaged in the debris for gauze. The two years had finally taught the man to collect some meager amount of medical supplies. He kept apologizing, kept telling Doflamingo not to touch the eye, kept asking if the swampy darkness of his vision had lifted yet. Doflamingo was sick of his apologies, his worthless concern, his shameful pleas for mercy. His father was a fool, such a GODDAMN FOOL-_

 _Rosi's cheek pressed against his sleeve. He was burnt hair, burnt everything, and he nudged Doflamingo like he thought he was asleep. "Are you okay?" he whispered and must not have been comforted then even when Doflamingo nodded, because he would ask again several times later. The silence unnerved him. Doflamingo wondered how much more unnerved he'd be if he released the laugh he was desperately holding in. If he grabbed Rosi by the shoulders and swore all over again that he was going to kill them all. Every last person who had done this to them. No matter who they were_ ).

What harsh lessons indeed.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The mob fell like string-less marionettes. Bodies thudded to the ground, heavy as dead meat, echoing in his ears. His vision rippled, darkness at his left and a dizzying, congealing red at his right.

 _KILL KILL ALL OF THEM_ ALL OF THEM _MUST PAY_

It pulsed with every pounding beat of his heart as he laid there, curled up among bodies. The skin on his face and neck was dry and ready to crack. His chest heaved, but the air wasn't enough and _it didn't matter anyway_. Nothing mattered save for that black swirling vortex growing inside, cradled against his ten year old bones. It needed to get even. It was _going_ to get even. Nothing else mattered.

"Doffy," a voice whispered through the dark. "you're heavy."

A hand pushed weakly against his chest and Doflamingo jolted as if punched. His little brother's dirt-smudged face stared up at him through the cage of his arms. Then its gaze slid past him and Rosi's tiny frame stiffened like a board.

"Wh-What happened? H-How did…"

Doflamingo released him, rolling off carefully. That's right. He remembered now. The mob had caught Rosi first in the square. They'd stolen something, a stupid little bag of plums, and the townspeople had gone after them with torches and crowbars.

Rosi had tripped ( _because he was always, always tripping_ ) and then just huddled in the dirt in the fetal position. ( _Stop please! Father, Mama!_ ) That tiny body, shaking and twitching.

A trapped bird in a hand.

( _BROTHER, HELP ME!_ )

Doflamingo had thrown himself onto Rosi before his brain could even catch up. Of course, the beating became ten times worse when they realized he was the boy from before who had dropped an entire crowd. Doflamingo's teeth started grinding again. Bruises and cuts seared across his flesh now as the rush depleted, blood sticking down his hairline. And his brother chose then to try and touch him.

He jumped when Doflamingo grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward.

" _What, Rosi?_ " he said, teeth clenched, "WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT?"

His brother recoiled, tried to shy away like a dog that'd been kicked. For a blind second or two, he struggled, before going still so suddenly Doflamingo felt the shift in his weight.

Rosi looked at him.

And it was such a determined expression he wore, so tender and devoid of fear. Rosi...didn't often look at him that way anymore. The howling inferno in Doflamingo's head calmed to a simmer. His brother reached a hand up to his temple, fingers grazing over a clotted wound.

"It's okay," he said, "We're okay now."

Doflamingo didn't reply. He barely breathed. Rosi touched the hand that was still clenched around his collar and pried the fingers gently off. He gripped it in his smaller, clammier one and squeezed.

"Let's go home."

Then Doflamingo was getting tugged down the path towards the hut. He was too shocked to do anything but acquiesce.

They were out of sight of the square, before Rosi broke the silence again, so softly their footsteps nearly drowned out his voice.

"Thank you for saving me, Doffy."

Warmth pooled in Doflamingo's belly, made his chest hurt and ache at its center. He did not know how to put such a feeling into words, so he squeezed Rosi's hand back and said nothing.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Evil waited for them at the fork of the road. Rosinante would remember forever its voice.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Behehe, what happened to you two?"

Instinct planted Doflamingo in front of his brother immediately. Rosi gasped, curling up a fistful of his shirt. Standing only twenty meters away was a large…man? Doflamingo narrowed his eyes, spreading one arm out to better cover his brother.

Looking again, it was definitely a man. A hideous one with two ropes of snot hanging plainly out his nose like decorations. The entire body in fact, seemed oddly undefined and his steps made slimy, squelching noises as he approached.

"Nene, which one of you was it?"

The man looked them over and Rosi froze up behind him, all traces of his earlier collection gone. Doflamingo tried not to let it make him nervous as well. The filthy peasant looked slow enough, perhaps they could make a run for it with enough distraction…

"Leave us alone," Doflamingo said, voice kept steady with rigid force, "Or you'll be sorry."

The thing grinned. "So it was you. Behehe, makes sense. You do have more of the vibe for the Conqueror's Haki."

He waved his hand and suddenly three more figures emerged from the shadows—two large ones as big as the man, and a child around Doflamingo's own age, all introduced one by one: Diamante, Pica, Vergo.

"And I'm Trebol." The man grinned, revealing large rotting teeth.

Doflamingo grimaced. Rosi's sweat-slicked hand had made its way to his wrist and was squeezing the life out of it.

"I don't care. Keep away from us. We didn't do anything to you."

"Behehe, oh, but what _we_ could do for _you_ , young master." Doflamingo's brow quirked, surprised and, he supposed, faintly curious. There was a never-ending hunger in him these days for power (which had been _his_ , all _his_ , rightfully so from the very start) and the misery of life here had made him opportunistic. Rosi tugged on his arm. Doflamingo ignored him.

"What are you talking about? Explain."

"Brother, no!" Rosi whispered, "What are you doing? Let's get out of here!"

"Behehehe, of course. Shall we have a little chat then, us five?" Trebol's gaze oozed towards Rosi. "Privately, young master?"

Doflamingo preened at the title. He could hardly control himself. It had been two years since anyone had referred to him with a semblance of respect. Satisfying to know some humans still knew their place. Doflamingo's interest piqued and he moved to shake Rosi off.

He wanted his brother off the streets though, before he spoke with this lot any further. Didn't need the distraction of being concerned with his safety.

"Go ahead back," he said, "I'll follow shortly."

Rosi didn't let go.

"No." His hold on Doflamingo's arm grew tight and stubborn. "No, _no_ , Doffy, you come with me. Let's go back together."

"It'll only be a minute. I just want to hear what they have to say."

Rosi shook his head, his eyes peered up at him from beneath his bangs and Doflamingo was taken aback by the blatant fear in them. Tears were shining at the corners of his eyes.

"What the—" Doflamingo turned around more fully, gathering his brother up. "Rosi, why are you crying—"

"Don't talk to them," Rosi said, grabbing him back, "Don't talk to _him_. I have a bad feeling." With his free hand, he rummaged in his pocket, producing the tattered bag of dried plums they had nearly gotten themselves killed over.

"Here, Doffy," he said, offering it with a shaky hand, "You can have this, okay? I-I'll give it to you. I'll do whatever you say from now on, just please…" He hiccuped and there was wet heat on Doflamingo's chest. The bag slipped from Rosi's fingers and would've fallen to the ground between them if Doflamingo hadn't caught it. Rosi didn't even seem to notice.

"Come with me, Doffy. Let's go home. Please do this for me."

 _Can't you do this for me?_

Doflamingo stared in bewilderment, his little brother a trembling mess in his arms. It was...Rosi's birthday today, wasn't it? He'd never forgotten before, how had he forgotten?

"Oi, what's the hold up, kid?" the one named Diamante called out, "We don't have all day."

"Is everything alright?" Vergo murmured.

 _Power._ A voice purred in Doflamingo's head, stalking through the floors of his mind. _Vengeance. Restoration. You don't belong here. This world is beneath you._ The sunset glinted off the surface of his shades. He made his decision. Wordlessly, Doflamingo pried Rosi's white-knuckled grip from his shirt and took a half step back. His brother whimpered, but didn't move to reach for him again, eyes on the ground. Doflamingo's nails dug into his palms.

He dropped the plums on Rosi's head.

"Sorry," he said, without turning around, "Not interested."

Then he took Rosi's hand and started limping down the trail. Rosi was so shocked that he had to be dragged for the first few feet, before he found his legs again. Doflamingo did not slow down for him. He didn't even look at him, keeping his eyes straight ahead as Trebol wailed after their shrinking silhouettes.

"Wait, young master, waaait! Nene, you want revenge don't you? For what all these people have done? I can give you the strength you crave, young master! I have all the power you need."

Doflamingo clenched his teeth. He had Rosi's hand in such a tight grip that it was probably painful, but he didn't let up—anchoring himself to the touch as Trebol went on and on with his offers and pledges, swearing he could obtain for him anything if it was not the darkness he wanted.

It was maddening to walk away. Doflamingo wanted vengeance like he wanted his place in the sun again. A fever-hot desire. Desperation so heavy and hopeless it was hardening into resentment. He was failing to choke down the temptation of turning around again before they were even out of earshot.

Rosi's free hand reached over, settling around his wrist.

"Doffy?" he whispered and Doflamingo choked it down.

"We're going," he hissed, "Don't look back."

* * *

xxx

* * *

That night, Rosi taped his bruised ribs with clumsy hands, feet kicking idly as they waited for their father to return from wherever he'd gone. Rosi insisted on splitting the bag of plums with him, even though Doflamingo said he could have it all. He was smiling very softly for the first time in two years, and kept it up no matter how Doflamingo groused at him.

"I'm glad you didn't go."

Doflamingo sighed. "How could I, huh? With you around. You'd probably get lost or trip on your way back to this shit-hole and knock yourself unconscious."

Rosi laughed, even though he hadn't been trying to be funny. Then he hugged him hard enough to hurt.

"You know I love you," he said and Doflamingo's mouth twitched a little. He brushed Rosi's hair out of his face. He told himself it was enough.

* * *

xxx

* * *

His eye pulsed in pain. Ebbing and flowing like the tide. Sometimes, he could ignore the low, endless throb and sometimes, he wanted to do nothing but scream.

His father wept as he gagged him on these bad days, holding him tight as Doflamingo tried to kick him away. Two weeks had passed since they'd almost been lynched like criminals, and the swirling darkness in the left half of his vision remained.

His father spoke optimistically, said to give it more time to heal and that it was a miracle the wound had not grown infected.

"If you hadn't moved us down here," Doflamingo rasped, nails digging into a nearby stool, "THEN NONE OF THIS SHIT WOULD'VE HAPPENED AT ALL!"

In a burst of rage, he threw the stool at his father, who gasped and fumbled to catch it before it smashed onto the ground. The mob was still wandering outside, hunting them like dogs with a scent. Doflamingo hardly cared. His chest heaved, vision blurring with his anger and tears.

"It's all your fault! ALL YOUR FAULT! _Look at what you've done!_ "

His father's expression was crumpled. As if he wanted to reach out and hold him, but was restraining himself. Endless sorrow and heartbreak welled in his eyes, but there was something else now far worse. Something akin to acknowledgement. To acceptance. His father _agreed_ with him.

"Son, I—"

"No, no, _no_!" Doflamingo slapped his father's hands back, nearly stumbling to the ground, "Don't touch me! I _hate_ you! You took it all away. My power, my title, everything! How could you do this to me?"

There was no going back. No undoing what had been done. Mother was dead. He and Rosi were stuck here forever. All because of his father's stupidity.

 _I wish you would die._ Doflamingo thought and then, "I WISH YOU WOULD DIE!"

The floorboards creaked as Rosi shuffled over, face pale and confused. His eyes slid from his brother to his father in mute fear. He was barely even there to Doflamingo.

For a long beat, the shack was silent save for the sound of Doflamingo's harsh panting. Then his father stood and headed for the door, shoulders slumped, steps echoing in the stillness, halting at the threshold.

"Doflamingo. Rosinante." He wore a small smile. His face was lined in tears. "I am sorry that you had to have a father like me."

And he was gone. Rosi hurried out the door after him, asking where he was going, if he was even coming back and Doflamingo turned to seethe at a wall.

What was the point of asking that man questions? He would never get the answers he wanted; never know why they were chased, why they were hated and beaten and blamed. His father couldn't give him answers.

He had never even had them himself.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Two days later, Doflamingo's father lay cooling in the early dawn. There was a bullet hole at the side of his head and not nearly so much blood as expected. Rosi fell onto his knees and sobbed, cradling the corpse. Doflamingo stood there and watched him.

He was waiting for…sorrow he supposed. Fear over their circumstances without an adult around. _Something._

 _I WISH YOU WOULD DIE_

A gun was lying a few feet from the body. Doflamingo picked it up.

 _You know this is your fault._ A voice muttered in his head—a clinical observation.

The was an ornate thing, made of obsidian metal and sparkling gold plating. Expensive-looking and deadly. No smoke was curling from the muzzle, but the heat radiating from the barrel was palpable. Doflamingo was pensive.

Then he was angry.

Father had had a gun like this? What the hell had he been hiding it for? He could have fought back against the attackers. He could have protected Mother and Rosi. He could have shown them _exactly_ what it meant to _fuck_ with someone above their stations, but he didn't. He hadn't. All he did was _run_ , like the foolish, spineless apologist he was and how _dare_ he How DARE HE….

 _I have all the power you need._

Rosi didn't say anything when he wandered off. He probably hadn't even noticed and Doflamingo didn't try to draw attention to himself either. It was for the best. Rosi would've gotten in the way.

The sun was raising its head. Doflamingo slipped into the shadows of the alleys to escape the heat. Rot and garbage smothered the air there, but at least it covered the stench of blood.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Somehow, Trebol was incredibly easy to find. The rickety creaks of the abandoned warehouse echoed in Doflamingo's ears as he stood before the giant fawning man.

"Behehe, I knew you would come back."

"My brother and I are returning to our homeland," he said, "Give me the power that I require."

Another shivery cackle escaped Trebol. "As you wish, young master." He stood and oozed toward a small table, where a strange white fruit sat at the center.

"The Ito Ito no Mi," he said, offering it, "Eat this for the strength you seek, but remember it mustn't be shared. Devil fruit do not like to be shared. The consequences could be very ugly indeed."

Doflamingo regarded the fruit with some dubiousness, before taking it. As he moved, the light seeping in from the decayed rafters caught the length of the gun clasped to his waist, and Trebol clapped his hands in glee.

"I see you picked up my little present as well."

He froze, turning to the group of them. Vergo folded his hands behind his back, gaze hidden by his shades. Diamante and Pica were each smirking, ever so slightly.

"…What?"

"We took the liberty of gathering some intel on your family, young master," Vergo said softly, and Doflamingo resisted the urge to flinch, "It seems your father really made things hard for you. I wonder what Mariejois would require from you as repentance."

He stared at them.

Trebol giggle-snorted. "I wooondeeeer." Something clattered on the table. Trebol retracted his hand and a gleaming dagger lay in its place. Jeweled and as beautiful as the gun.

"There's an old custom around here," Diamante said, "That outcasts of a kingdom can regain entrance by offering the head of a traitor."

Doflamingo stared some more. It was not that he did not understand, but that he had understood far too well.

"You killed my father?"

"We gave you an option."

So they had. Doflamingo picked up the blade, running a thumb along the edge. He imagined it stained and wet. Imagined the weight of a head…of recompense sitting in his child hands. They would have to return to Mariejois on their knees, as if mortals making offerings to gods. As if being down in this world had cast over them an eternal shadow.

It wasn't suppose to be this way.

 _Look at what you've done_

 _All your fault_

 _I wish you would die_

"What do I tell my brother?" Doflamingo asked, tonelessly.

Trebol's scoff was sharp through his locked teeth. "Better not to take him with you. Have him wait here and then if all goes well, come back for him. He's so small. So fragile. You wouldn't want him to get hurt, would you?"

It was true. Rosi was always so emotional. So…weak in the most inconvenient ways. Yet the thought of abandoning him was inconceivable. The obligation to protect his brother wrapped him tight as a chain. A sworn promise written into the marrow of his bones.

"He wouldn't want me to do this," Doflamingo mumbled and Trebol scoffed.

"If he were truly your brother, he would understand your choices. He would be grateful for your consideration of him and he would be waiting here for your return. Anything else is tantamount to betrayal. Don't you agree?"

Betrayal.

Doflamingo remembered Father and his vision leaked red again. He would come to despise that word with every seething fiber of his being.

"This is a horrible world," Trebol said, "And you are meant to bathe it with flames. All that matters now is your will. What do you say, little Donquixote?"

And maybe years down the line, a small piece of Doflamingo would like to think he hesitated.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He did not glance back when he set off for Mariejois. The clothes hanging from his frame were ripped and filthy, reeking and stiff with sweat and blood. The gun repeatedly knocked against his thigh.

His father's head was like an anchor in his hand. It left a red, dripping trail in his wake.

"Your fault," he muttered and huffed out a laugh, "It's all your fault. Everything. But you'll fix this now. I'll make sure of it."

Somewhere in the distance, Rosi was crying. He had not taken it well.

( _Doffy, what are you doing?_ _ **He's already dead, Rosi.**_ _Doffy, no, no, stop, STOP, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, NO!_ _ **I'M DOING THIS FOR US!**_ )

Doflamingo remembered trying to reach out and wipe his tears, forgetting that his hands were dirty. He smeared blood across Rosi's cheeks, across his _lips_ , and Rosi screamed.

His brother shoved him away and overbalanced, falling down at Doflamingo's feet. Then he just sat there, curled into a ball, sobbing and trembling as if naked in winter. He wouldn't look at him, no matter what Doflamingo said.

 _Your fault, father._

 _Your fault that we're in this hellhole. Your fault that mother's dead. Your fault that we're starving. Your fault that we're beaten and spat at and hated._

 _Your fault Rosi can't look at me._

His eye was a scorching white knot of pain. It was bleeding sluggishly again through the sloppy bandages and he wondered if a piece from the arrow remained lodged inside.

 _Your fault_ I _can't look at me._

Someone giggled. It took him a very long second to realize it was himself. Rosi had stopped crying. Or maybe they were already too far away to hear each other anymore.

He did not glance back.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Mariejois banished him for good.

They made him watch as the Donquixote name was carved out of the temple walls, slashed from all the scriptures. They said it was worth less than dirt now, that it would forever be known as the lineage of traitors.

They wrinkled their noses at his scars and flapped their arms at his disheveled garb, rags no less similar to those of the slaves. They thought it amusing mostly, Doflamingo with his bleeding eye and dead father's head. They squealed with glee and suddenly resembled more hogs to be roasted than dragons.

They laughed and Doflamingo would never forget how they laughed.

But what could he do then, standing there as a thin, bruised and broken-boned boy, looking up at these so-called gods? Their wealth, their treasures, their dignity. Everything that was once his _gonegoneGONE._

He fled when the guards came to chase him, passing through Mariejois's pearly gates for the final time. It was as if he was plummeting, down and down, into the pits of the world.

For a while, Doflamingo sat on a bluff to catch his breath, watching the North Blue wash up along the rocks of the Red Line. Ships dotted the crimson horizon. He had overheard talk that more and more Marines prowled the waters these days, trying to catch sight of Gold Roger's pirate sails.

He pondered dazedly the kind of power a man like Roger would have. To never worry about the next meal or bristle at every sound. To never fear death or be frightened of anyone ever again. To kill whomever he pleased.

Doflamingo looked at his father's head. The sagging, mottled flesh, the vague hint of a smile still faint on his stiff, rictus mouth. Disgust tightened his throat and he thought for a second he was going to suffocate under his own broiling hatred.

When he stood, it was to drop the thing into the sea for the fishes to have.

His arm stretched towards the frothing water, hovered there a short eternity. But he never did let go in the end.

A small face flashed across his mind, tear-streaked and nose dripping. Terror stark in the large brick-dust eyes.

 _Rosi._

Doflamingo buried the head on that bluff, clawing open the earth with his hands. He broke all his nails and mud stained the front of his shirt. Eventually, sweat-soaked, Doflamingo stood in front of the makeshift grave, chest heaving. Hollow.

He kept wondering if he was ever going to cry.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The shed was empty when Doflamingo returned.

He checked the little creek by the forest edge, the alleyways and garbage heaps. Their meager food supplies still sat in the cabinet and all the sheets were still made on the bed.

Panic threatened to swallow his mind and Doflamingo shoved it aside. He kept searching. He called out his little brother's name whenever he dared. The sun was setting again before he finally gave up. There was no blood, no sated mobs, no trace or sign that pointed to any fact at all except for one.

Rosi was gone.

Rosi was _gone._

Doflamingo sat down blankly at the front of their hut and held his eye. It burned. He'd no idea how long he sat there, before the shadows trundled up to him, faces leering.

"Such disrespect," Diamante would say later at the warehouse, shaking his head, as if he truly found it all quite upsetting, "To not be here waiting for you. And after you were almost killed on his behalf too! How ungrateful."

Trebol rested his elbows on his chair, giggling and snorting again. "Behehe, yes, he didn't wait, did he? Not like _us_ , right Doffy? We waited for you. We were here this whole time. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," Doflamingo said faintly, "You were here this whole time."

His eye was numb now, graced every so often by a fuzzy, phantom-like ache. Vergo and Pica were standing over him. Trebol had advised that the bandaging be taken off completely, allowing the wound to breathe. The agony would make him strong. It would never let him forget his suffering.

With a gentle hand, Pica slid his glasses off. Doflamingo still stiffened, but if they noticed, they made no comment. Vergo peeled away the gauze slowly, one layer at a time.

 _Rosi, where did you go?_

 _How could you leave?_

"The tissue is damaged beyond repair," Vergo murmured, fingers brushing the socket. Pica's expression was open with surprise and Diamante whistled with pity. A mirror in hand, Trebol oozed forward, offering it to Doflamingo.

"Take a look, Doffy. Behehe, remember it well."

With thundering heart, Doflamingo took the mirror. A long jagged gash now spiraled through the middle of his left eye. The pupil was a cold and cloudy white, no longer the sky blue his mother had so loved.

Hideous. Repulsive. _Broken._

And it was clear instantly to Doflamingo that he would never see out of it again.

He thought he could cry then, but the tears never came. It would be much, much later before he realized they had all dried up. That he had soaked every drop into these two godforsaken years of childhood and would never have another one fall again. Something like ice was coursing up and into his head, building like a ball of pressure.

 _Rosi, Rosi, I'm blind now._

 _They took away my eye._

 _It burns. It hurts._

 _It feels like I'm falling._

 _God, Rosi, you left me here._

 _You left me._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Nene, in a way, Doffy, we were more loyal than your own family, weren't we?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

Something cracked for the first time.

Doflamingo laughed, head bowed, clutching his shirt. Veins popped in his fists and over his forehead. It took over a minute before he could finally control himself enough to stop. By then, Vergo, Diamante and Pica were staring at him, regarding him with something like awe.

Trebol rubbed his hands as if he were utterly enamored. His face stretched with the width of his grin.

Doflamingo grinned back with twice the amount of teeth.

"Yes, Trebol, more loyal than family."

He did not return to the hut that night.

* * *

xxx

* * *

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

But on a gentle summer day, fated to age and memory, a boy had watched his brother release a bird.

It had ruffled its feathers. It had spread its wings. It had flown away.

And altered the history of their lives to all eternity.


	2. umbra

**umbra - "shadow" or "ghost**

* * *

Once, Mother told him in secret that they'd wanted a second child for his sake.

"Why?" he asked and she had shook her head, an old little smile on her lips. She never did answer him, but Rosi arrived all the same.

He was very shy and meek, not one for confrontation. Did weird things like thanking and interacting with the slaves. Also cried. A lot.

They had nearly nothing in common, but he _worshiped_ Doflamingo anyway. Followed him around everywhere and tried desperately to impress him. It gave Doflamingo all sorts of strange feelings inside he didn't know how to account for. He supposed the slaves deferred to him as well, but Rosi was different. An equal. He didn't have to constantly totter after him or call for him or really have anything to do with him at all.

But he seemed to want to. And he always did.

" _I love you, brother,_ " Rosi would say sometimes, softly, as if he thought it needed to be said.

Doflamingo supposed he understood what Rosi meant. He appreciated Rosi's love like he would a pretty sunrise—something he recognized at a distance and was always pleased by but could never quite fathom the idea of touching.

Not to say he didn't try. Not to say he didn't love him back in the only way he knew how.

" _You are mine._ "

* * *

xxx

* * *

It took a mere year for the Donquixote Family to make its name. They ran drug rings and slave trade, smuggling weapons to the hands of tyrants. Entire towns burned to the ground and grown men begged for their lives before expiring. There was blood enough for days.

Trebol and Diamante praised Doflamingo endlessly for their successes, attributing him to their growing power and the spreading horror of their names. It was rather funny how satisfied they were already.

Because he sure as _fuck_ wasn't.

The enterprise required expansion and when he turned seventeen, he declared they'd be taking their business to the seas. Pica and Diamante laughed uproariously, fantasizing of plunder and women and luxury. Trebol's thoughts were of prestige and fame, rambling from then on about emperors and warlords.

Perhaps people like them could not understand. There was only one objective Doflamingo gave a rat's ass about and that had nothing to do with treasure or the absurd system of the Shichibukai.

Only Vergo seemed to have half a clue.

"Piracy, huh?" he pondered once, leaning against the rail of their most recently…commandeered ship, "You've a knack for poetics, Doffy."

Doflamingo rested his chin on a palm. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Going out onto the waves," Vergo's shades glinted beneath the noon rays, reflecting the crisp waters, "A full circle."

Doflamingo snickered. He immensely enjoyed these moments of perception from Vergo.

"We're all buried at sea."

A small smile crossed Vergo's lips as he lit another cigarette. The wind was blowing out to the waves, heady tobacco blending together with the salt spray. He inhaled, focusing upon it.

And didn't bother acknowledging the shadow of eight-year old Rosinante sitting on the rail between them.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The hallucinations had begun out of nowhere. One moment, Doflamingo was having the time of his life, pounding into some moaning tart in the backroom of a local pub and the next Rosi was standing at the edge of the bed, peering into his face.

Doflamingo swore, nearly crushing the girl in his rush to scramble off of her. His recent growth spurt had made him long and heavy, and the dresser tipped over when he kicked it accidentally.

The girl didn't even seem to notice the thundering crash it made. She didn't even seem to notice he was gone at all, as she lay sprawled on the bed still, gasping, a blush of pleasure across her snowy cheeks.

Doflamingo's mouth went dry. Rosi straightened, hands behind his back, as if he were about to start rocking on his heels. He looked exactly the same as when Doflamingo had last seen him. Sweat and dirt-stained, clothes worn, that thumbprint of their father's blood at the corner of his chin from where Doflamingo had touched him.

Rationally, it couldn't have been real. He still surveyed the islands across the North Blue and kept a tap on the local news, but had long stopped expecting anything. It had been seven years after all. At this point, Rosi was either dead or didn't want to be found.

"No," Doflamingo growled, "No, no, you don't get to do this to me."

"What was that, hon?" the girl murmured, eyes clearing, "Hey, what are you doing over there? Fun's back this way, big boy."

She sat up, slinking right past Rosi. Her long hair was still dark and wet with rainwater. She smelled of her muddy traipse through the storm when Diamante had demanded whores for company. A cool bird-like hand took him by the wrist, guiding it to her lily-white breast.

"Come on now," she said softly, fingers resting over his knuckles, "Don't be shy."

Doflamingo yanked his hand back and made her jump.

"Shut up." He pointed toward the side of the bed, right at Rosi's blank face. "Do you see anything there? Just nod or shake your head."

The girl looked startled, hesitating a beat that made Doflamingo want to smack her in his impatience. But then she turned, glancing at his brother without comprehension and shook her head.

Doflamingo refused to let the icy grip of panic take him.

"Get out," he snarled to the girl and wrenched his pants off the floor, far from aroused anymore.

"W-What? But you still have an hour—"

"Did you not hear me?" Doflamingo grinned and the girl paled. For an incredible second, it almost seemed she wanted to keep protesting, before self-preservation kicked in and she nodded, scooping up the crumpled pile of her dress.

It wasn't until her footsteps had faded down the hall that he managed to turn himself around again. Rosi was still there, sitting on the upturned dresser and idly kicking his feet.

"What do you want?" Doflamingo asked quietly.

He was stared at. The expression was mostly blank, save for a faint shadow of reproach, of child-like disapproval with him that Doflamingo remembered so well his stomach curled. Fuck, he was too young to be going crazy.

"I looked for you," he said, "I really did. But you were gone. I think you're probably dead actually. You're not here to blame me, are you?"

Rosi's face softened. He hopped to his feet, touching the floorboards without a sound, and for a second, Doflamingo thought he was walking towards him and couldn't stop himself from flinching.

But Rosi halted at the end of the bed, crouching near the post. He stared at Doflamingo, before looking down.

A dropped photograph lay half-wedged between linen and wood. It was yellowed and creased with too many folds. A young raven-haired girl hugging a woman in a wheelchair.

Doflamingo recognized the hair first. It had just been fanned out over the pillows only minutes ago after all and _ah, that's right, he'd chatted with her pimp, hadn't he?_ And learned the whole tragic tale. A dying mother. A life of poverty. She sold herself for a handful of pills.

Diamante had laughed and laughed until he cried. ( _God, the sentiment in people, am I right Doffy?_ )

Doflamingo hadn't laughed. Fraying hair and brittle wrists had crowded his memory then. And coughing. Endless coughing.

Rosi studied him, nearly bent backwards just to meet his gaze. The torn hem of a lilac dress was clutched between his fingers.

Doflamingo slid on his glasses.

In the end, he fucked no one and left over twice the entitled payment for the stunned woman, storming out of the pub and into the wet cloud-ridden dark. Diamante didn't protest much, cowed beneath the seething blackness of Doflamingo's glare.

The photograph was still in his hand, growing increasingly wet and ruined. His trembling grip crumpled it further. With a burst of crimson petulance, he thought about setting fire to the entire pub and tossing it into the flames.

Instead, it slipped through his fingers to lie in the rain.

Rosi was gone.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He kept coming back.

Every time Doflamingo tried to do anything even remotely interesting. Or further the many meticulous plans he's laid out, Rosi would be there.

Sometimes, in the pristine satin robe of a Celestial Dragon. Sometimes, in the rags their father had reduced them to.

Always watching.

Over the next few years, Doflamingo grew used to seeing him in doorways and windows, seated at the table while Vergo made reports, or spattered with the guts of whomever Pica had slaughtered for laughing at his voice.

Ignoring him to do what he pleased resulted in nightmares. And a left eye that seared with such agony he once nearly gouged it out.

By that juncture, Doflamingo was sincerely contemplating if he'd gone insane. He'd done a vast amount of reading in his spare time, determined to educate himself, and concluded that at some point he'd suffered a psychotic break.

Doflamingo could not fathom why or when. He hardly thought he was broken.

 _But what else could this be?_ He wondered, standing in the rubble of another nameless town, Trebol giggling and Rosi huddled amongst the corpses, cradling Father's head like a toy.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"You really should leave me alone."

Doflamingo was twenty-three and Gold Roger had been dead for six years.

The Grand Line festered with impossible dreams. A torrent of skull sails poured in, each with their own silly little design and captain, here to pursue their silly little goals.

A new era was rumbling on the horizon. Unwritten history with the quill poised on the page. How Doflamingo fantasized about tearing a hole straight through it all. There were so many ideas rambling in his head these days, so many horrible and hilarious things to achieve.

The crew had grown like a rising swell. It was sufficiently sized now to organize into individual teams and supervising officers. They were all misfits, orphans and freaks to some degree, ostracized and barely existing on the fringes of society. No one wanted them, which was a waste and a shame, because there was such _talent_ to be found.

Lao G from death row and Jora from the streets. The latest recruit, Senor Pink, had been plucked out of the jaws of a loan shark and was blinking at him with puzzlement.

"Young Master?" He spoke, all caution, and Doflamingo's gaze trailed down from the bookcase, where his still eight-year old brother swung his feet.

"It's nothing," he reassured, shoving aside his own surprise that he'd spoken out loud, "So a little lady's smitten with you, is she?"

Senor Pink blushed as deep as his namesake. "W-Well it's nothing very serious. Just a few dates really. But since we're going to be docked here until the log pose updates, I just thought…uh…"

Doflamingo pretended to listen as he prattled on. He kept tabs on every interesting development and was already well-aware of Senor Pink's pretty, pretty Russian. They were discussing marriage at this point, far beyond a "few dates," and Doflamingo was not pleased _at all_ that his subordinate thought to hide things from him. Trebol had already urged that the relationship needed ending by force, worried about a division in Pink's loyalties. Having yet to see any evidence of this, Doflamingo hadn't bothered. He liked Pink and didn't like suspecting family.

Even if things changed all the time.

"My dear Senor," Doflamingo said, abruptly interrupting the other man, "Let's just cut to the chase, shall we? You are _lying_ and I'm frankly quite offended you presume me so easy to evade."

Oho, he'd forgotten how white of a shade Senor Pink could turn. Even better than that petrified bird impression of Jora's. A corner of Doflamingo, which was forever a ten year old boy burning in the flames, was alight with vicious glee. Fear was not nearly so practical as devotion, but it was fun to see all the same.

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I was going to tell you sooner, but there was just never…She thinks I'm a banker, she doesn't know that I'm…well, I-I guess I'm afraid she might—"

"What, Pink?" Doflamingo tilted his head. "Leave you? Send the Marines after me? Is she a bigger problem than I'd initially thought?"

The man's eyes widened. Fat beads of sweat trickled from his perfectly coiffed hair and he nearly stumbled over himself to correct him.

"What? No, no, Young Master, she's not a threat at all. I-I swear she knows nothing. She'll never know anything. You don't have to waste your time."

"Never a waste of time where my family's concerned," Doflamingo chided, smiling coolly, "I've been abundantly clear. Mistakes can be excused. But betrayal…"

" _I would never betray you,_ " Senor Pink said, fists squeezing and voice thick, "Never. Not for anyone. Please, Young Master, leave her be. I-I'll…I'll break things off with her today if you want me to. Give me any punishment you see fit for lying."

His head was bowed and _oh god, he was close to tears, was it really so serious a thing, eheh._ Doflamingo fiddled with his options. Something from the frozen depths of him mused on killing her anyway and making Senor Pink dispose of the body. He'd never been partial to the notion of sharing…

Fingertips brushed his elbow. Doflamingo blinked and Rosi was sitting on the desk with blood coming out of his eyes.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Senor Pink cringed like a dog awaiting a kick when Doflamingo suddenly cursed, nails screeching against polished wood.

"You've picked the wrong time," the Young Master snarled and terror wrung Pink's stomach a little harder. As far as captains went, the Young Master was in his own league. A towering god among men. Power exuded from his every pore, but he was still surprisingly generous and reasonable, even if impossible to predict.

And certainly while those rare moments of anger were frightening beyond description, crew members were never subjected to it as long as they remained useful and did as they were told. He always made his expectations so very clear and Senor Pink would not dare resent him for that.

No, everything had simply been his own fault. He'd fucked up for real and now he'd never see or hear or touch her again.

"Get lost."

Senor Pink stiffened.

"I said _get lost_ , Rosi."

Senor Pink raised his head).

* * *

xxx

* * *

"…Sir?"

Doflamingo's jaw creaked as he glared into Rosi's stained and dirty face, ignoring the shudder that echoed through his soul.

"Young Master?" a voice warbled through his senses, "Who are you…?"

Doflamingo turned back to Senor Pink, who flinched just at his gaze. He made a single alarmed glance at the empty space Doflamingo had been snapping at and did not attempt to move or speak again.

Eyes narrowed, Doflamingo considered the man. He had an inkling then of what would send Rosi away. It wasn't the statement he'd prefer to make and he would probably never hear the end of it from Trebol, but he wanted Pink gone now.

"…If you watch her well," he said slowly, "And never forget where your loyalties lie…then I could care less what you do."

Senor Pink gaped, his previous unease crushed instantly beneath the weight of hope.

"S-Sir, do you mean…a-and it's okay if we…"

Doflamingo sighed, resisting the urge to rub his temples. Oh well, he was bored of this whole situation anyway.

"Don't lie to me again. Now get out."

Senor Pink bowed so low his forehead was nearly level with the desk. He didn't dare to ask what had changed his mind.

"Thank you, Young Master," he said, voice trembling, "For your forgiveness."

Doflamingo snorted as the door clicked shut after him. _Forgiveness, huh?_

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

But he was already in the room alone.


	3. spiritus contra spiritum

**spiritus contra spiritum - "spirits against spirits"**

* * *

They docked in Dressrosa for the first time on Trebol's insistence.

He had old connections in the kingdom, knew it well, and guided Doflamingo through the streets like a giant comical tour guide.

It was certainly a vibrant place, full of petals and music and wine. Amber lanterns poured light across checker-stoned boulevards. Everywhere smelled of fruit and rang with laughter and shapely women sized him up without shyness, ruby lips curving beneath painted eyes.

"They recognize a king when they see one," Trebol said adamantly and Doflamingo began to grin.

They took their time strolling around, Trebol insisting on buying and carrying anything that caught Doflamingo's eye. It was like having his own slave again and Doflamingo snickered at the indulgence.

An hour or two of peace glided by before stationed Marines recognized them from their bounty posters. He sent Trebol off to cover as he led them on a merry chase. Scarlet and gold Dressrosan banners fluttered on every windowsill he passed and _oh, the dedication, the nationalism, it must be_ _ **fun**_ _to rule here._

The men followed him all the way to the shoreline, where he soon grew bored and had them promptly kill each other in a secluded grove near the beach. He sat there for a while after, laughing himself sick before Trebol managed to find him again.

"Why are we here?" he finally asked, studying one of the soft white roses that had been flecked with blood. "Not that this wasn't amusing, but you must've had a reason to request this visit."

Trebol's smile oozed wide. He squelched onto a stone bench beneath an old fig tree and waved a hand at the spindling castle towers in the distance.

"Ne, do you like Dressrosa, Doffy?"

He smiled, wandering over to prod one of the dead bodies with his toe. "It has its appeal."

"Then what would you say if I told you it should've been yours?"

Doflamingo went still. Trebol's expression didn't change however, even after he gave him a sharp look of appraisal.

"I would say explain."

"Ah, as I thought, you were never told."

"Told _what_ , Trebol?"

"About your lineage," the older man said and just before Doflamingo's mood could turn foul, he supplied, "As you know, the Donquixote Family became part of the Celestial Dragons after helping to establish the World Government. But they must have been in quite a position of power before then to even get to that point. Just what do you suppose their position was, hmm?"

It clicked within seconds. Doflamingo turned back to the castle with widening eyes, to the flags bearing the Dold Family Crest wavering on the parapet. He imagined the view from there, high above the reeking masses, so close to the sky. (Where nothing could hurt you again).

"…We ruled Dressrosa."

Trebol cackled, snorting up another strand of snot.

"I mentioned it earlier, Doffy. You were meant to be a king."

 _ **A king. A king. A king.**_

"Nene, how about it?" Trebol urged, "Let's take Dressrosa back for the family. For you."

A flood of giddiness spread through Doflamingo's veins, as strong and acidic as poison. He recalled the grand staircases leading into the palace, the high walls and windows where the throne room would sit. What a marvelous view indeed. Death always looked funnier from up high.

Doflamingo's face was splitting into a grin, his many teeth glinting in the dark. He turned to Trebol.

And froze.

Dressrosa was on fire.

Orange-yellow and blue-hearted flames consuming the walls and streets, climbing up pillars and buildings. Millions of ropes swung from the melting rooftops of the palace like dead snakes. Doflamingo could feel the coarseness of their fangs rub his wrists raw, shredding through skin the more he struggled and growing moist with blood.

Rosi's tiny, ragged silhouette stood against the blaze. A white, gore-splattered rose was held in his shadowy hand. Smoke blotted out the stars and screams twisted and roared in the wobbling heat, beckoning for vengeance and paid debts.

Rosi raised his head and his eyes were lifeless and tear-stained. His mouth opened.

"Doffy?"

Doflamingo jolted hard, blinking for several flickering beats, before the illusion finally crumbled. His face was suddenly streaked with sweat, paler than a sheet and tremors rattled his body.

Trebol leaned towards him, tiny eyes squinting beneath his glasses.

"What's the matter?"

In the moon's warped shadows, he looked like something that had slithered straight from the bowels of the earth—something gnarled and hunch-backed which Doflamingo had to consciously restrain his muscles from attacking.

"No," he rasped, shaking his head, "No, leave it be. Forget it."

Trebol gaped, wide mouth dropping into a frown. "Whaaat? Why? It's yours. It was always suppose to be yours."

Doflamingo shook his head a second time, eyes growing wide as the kingdom behind them flickered orange with fire again. His throat closed around his breath. Rosi sat next to Trebol on the bench, wrists swollen and crimson with rope burns.

Doflamingo turned, nearly stumbling.

"We're leaving." He said, and didn't slow down even as Trebol whined for him to wait.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Dressrosa faded into a dot as the Donquixote Family left port. It danced on, an orb of color and light cupped in the craggy hand of the mountain.

It would dance for another eight beautiful years to come and never know of the first time those hungry eyes had set it within their sights.

Nor of what power had driven them away that one spring night).

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosi became a problem.

Since the visit to Dressrosa and as the family grew, the thrice-damned little nuisance made routine appearances everywhere he went. Sometimes, he'd see two Rosi's, then three, then eleven lined up in a narrow corridor.

He looked so real Doflamingo wanted to reach out and grab him. Maybe try to throttle him. _Why was he getting in his way?_

It was an incredible distraction and he couldn't focus. Sometimes, Rosi wouldn't disappear for days, dogging him like a tiny shadow—the way he use to an eternity and a half ago for much better reasons. He brought headaches, terrible needling ones that felt like his skull was being stabbed by ice picks.

The crew was certainly noticing how their captain was changing. How he staggered as if avoiding something while turning corners or refused to sit in particular chairs, the violent swears they would hear floating from his chambers.

Raiding and pillaging became a chore. He'd stopped Pica from massacring entire villages and Diamante's depraved nonsense with women simply because he had no energy to deal with it. He let hostages go and gave up the drug trade.

Trebol was beyond upset. Not that Doflamingo really cared or even had the temper to sit through his complaints anymore.

Eventually, all he cared about was lying down in the dark of his cabin, staring at the ceiling until Rosi finally, _finally_ relinquished him to peace.

* * *

xxx

* * *

In the eve of that year's muggy spring, Vergo sought to confront him.

"Is everything alright, Doffy?"

It was a superfluous question by that point. He hadn't slept or eaten right in weeks, and was perfectly aware of how much a horror he looked. Doflamingo yanked the dagger out of his wall, throwing it with a clatter back onto his desk.

There were several knife holes criss-crossing different sections of his room, with some even on the ceiling and floorboards. None of them had hit their mark. Doflamingo collapsed into his chair with a frustrated growl.

"Head hurts," he said curtly, staring as Rosi appeared behind Vergo, half-muted by his shadow.

"Again? What about aspirin?"

"Downed half the bottle. Didn't work for shit."

Vergo's jaw dropped slightly. "Are you _insane_?"

It was a mild reproach at best. Vergo's said far worse things to him than that before and they had always operated with a degree of casualness anyway.

But irrationality wasn't on Doflamingo's mind as he slammed Vergo headfirst into the wall. The man gasped, air knocked out of his lungs as if by a sledgehammer. Doflamingo bunched his collar in a giant, quivering fist.

" _I'm getting there,_ " he hissed, "I'm _about to be._ So why don't you _do_ something about that, Vergo? Why are you just standing around with your thumb up your ass? Why aren't you _helping_ me?"

Vergo stared at him with startled eyes, the glasses having fallen from his nose. Cracks webbed out in the wood beneath his shoulders.

He looked like he was struggling to even understand the past few seconds and suddenly, Doflamingo pitied himself.

Why _shouldn't_ Vergo be helping him deal with this, huh? Or better yet, why shouldn't Vergo just be _fixing this for him entirely_? He was _his_ , wasn't he? That's what he had promised.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Vergo almost flinched when Doffy's free hand skimmed over his cheek.

The movement tugged on his ribs and the faint bruises he knew would soon be forming.

"Oh, hush, it's not that bad," Doffy scolded, voice considerably quieter and gentler than a split second ago, "I've been having a bad day, Vergo. You shouldn't have pushed me."

Is that what he had done? Vergo couldn't recall. He'd managed to react fast enough with Haki to avoid the full brunt of the impact, but everything had escalated so suddenly that he wasn't sure when he'd stepped out of line.

"I'm sorry," he said regardless.

And was gifted with a smile, full lips parting to reveal white chiseled teeth. Doffy shifted his head and a strand of sunlight from the window refracted off his earring, scattering gold across the ceiling.

"Hmm, and if I don't forgive you?"

Vergo's heart plummeted. He had chosen to dedicate his very essence to Doffy thirteen years ago and carried no other purpose besides serving him. No other _existence_ really.

"You could punch me some more," he offered, "If you need to blow off steam that is. I'll use Haki to reduce the damage. And we should use my room, so you don't damage any more of yours."

Doffy laughed, a husky sound from the broad center of his chest. Vergo thought he could see the lid of one piercing blue eye peering into him from behind the shades.

"Thanks, but no. I'd rather have you in one piece." The long, slender fingers were moving again, tracing now over Vergo's bearded jaw. "How about you solve a little dilemma of mine instead? There's someone who's really been pissing me off lately, Vergo. I need you to get rid of him. You'll do this for me, won't you? Whatever it takes?"

"Of course, Doffy," he said. Instantly. Without a second's thought.

Doffy smiled once more and the hand lifted from his face, plucking something along with it. A teaspoon dangled between his index finger and thumb, and Vergo flushed.

"Hehe, ever the loyal one, _Corazón_."

And then Doffy told him and by the end, Vergo had departed the ship with only two thoughts in mind.

That he would make certain Doffy was never troubled again.

And that no one in this world made him shiver with more hatred than Rosinante Donquixote).

* * *

xxx

* * *

"I can't believe you're making me go this far."

...

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

...

"You always asked for this or that from me, but you can't even leave me alone?"

...

"I would've protected you, Rosi. I would've kept you safe."

...

...

...

"Why couldn't you believe that?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

Despite it all, Doflamingo's reputation did not suffer. If anything, the strange mercurial nature of his actions drew interested parties like moths to a flame.

 _Big_ moths.

And one day, the biggest one of all came calling.

It was Jora who answered the Den Den Mushi from Kaido. It was also Jora who screamed loud enough to rattle the shutters, forgot herself entirely and went tearing onto the deck for him like a headless chicken.

Thus, Doflamingo's first few words of exchange with a Yonkou ended up being apologies.

"I don't usually get that reaction from people." The emperor said and Doflamingo could not tell if his tone was of pride or annoyance and doubted the words either way.

"Of course, dear sir," he soothed through a clenched smile, while Jora was hastily ushered out of the room by Lao G, "Jora's a penchant for ill-timed and inappropriate outbursts. We're putting her on medication. Now, how can I be of service? This is a very…unexpected call."

Kaido grunted, still sounding miffed, before allowing the conversation to move on.

"Alright, listen up, little bird. I don't got time to mince words, so I'll keep this plain. You ever heard of Wano Country?"

That was probably the most pointless question Doflamingo had ever been asked, but he nodded.

"I have."

"Good, then here are the terms. You want safe passage through the waters there? Cut me a good deal and I'll let you sail by without penalty."

Doflamingo stared at the snail.

"…Did you get that, boy?"

"Yes," Doflamingo's mind was churning. Wano Country was one of the few territories Marines did not encroach on and the price on his head had been attracting more and more elite officers recently. Old Tsuru in particular seemed dead-set on chasing him all over the Grand Line.

Doflamingo propped his feet on the table. There was definitely promise here.

"Exactly what kind of deal are you interested in?"

"Hm, dunno," the Den Den Mushi mimed picking its ear, "I heard you've got access to all sorts of shit, so just offer whatever'll be useful to me. All that extra thinking is your job, not mine."

Doflamingo chuckled, incredulous. He supposed only creatures like Kaido could afford this sort of careless audacity.

"Heh, very well. Is there at least a preference?"

"Better men. Slim pickings here in Wano Country. Too many swordsmen waving their little sticks around. I want claws and teeth. Things that can tear shit up without worrying about some pussyfoot code of honor."

His grin faded slightly. Kaido most likely desired Zoan Devil Fruit—one of the rarer types in the New World. Where the fuck was he going to find enough of those to keep the man happy?

"I'll try my best to satisfy you," he settled on at last.

A snarl of laughter rang on the other end, black and rumbling as thunder across a wasteland.

"Oh, I don't think you'll be able to do that, boy. I'm not satisfied by much anymore." The snail's mouth curled into a smirk. "A problem we can both relate to, eh?"

Doflamingo said nothing. It was true enough.

"You know I've been hearing a lot of talk about you, Doflamingo," Kaido continued, "That you're somethin' special, that you've got plans to come. You're after something, aren't you? What exactly is it that you want?"

"Nothing you could understand," Doflamingo said, without thinking.

But there was only more raucous laughter in reply. The speaker piece vibrated in his hand.

"Such spunk! I think we'll get along just fine, little bird. In fact, let me give you a little piece of advice. As a gesture."

The Den Den Mushi's smirk widened, revealing long, jagged canines.

"Cut the shit with all the softness. There's potential, but you're still holdin' back. You're clinging to something. Or something's clinging to you. What good's a past or a conscience for a goal like yours? Slaughter the fuck out of those ghosts and just let it all go. You'll be afraid of nothing in time. Trust me."

For a second, Doflamingo just sat there, vaguely stunned.

"I—"

Rosi was next to the Den Den Mushi, hands wrapped over its mouth. He looked at Doflamingo and it'd been a long time since he'd last seen any emotion on his brother's face, but now he saw judgment. _Expectation._

And he suddenly realized it was as Kaido said. Rosi…had been telling him what to do, hadn't he? The pain and nightmares were only excuses. Doflamingo had heeled under the command of a most-assuredly dead little boy. He'd been letting the dust of a memory control him, because…

 _Because…_

Doflamingo's fingers left dents in the speaker.

"I understand," he said and Kaido chuckled.

"I had a feeling you would."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Vergo returned with an odd bottle of wine, pink as his feathered coat and smelling vaguely of chemicals. It was a long, convoluted story, but the basic gist Doflamingo gathered was that Vergo had somehow assisted a Marine squad in raiding an illegal drug lab.

One of the workers there was a man named Caesar, a former disciple of the renowned Vegapunk. Caesar had murdered many, many people in the name of science. He'd crossed every line imaginable and had done it all with a smile, with the most ear-grating laughter Vergo had ever experienced.

But as a result, Caesar also knew a thing or two more about human psychiatry than most and Vergo figured this was worth keeping him from rotting behind bars.

"I have him situated in a safe-house right now," he said, as Doflamingo stared at the swirling liquid, "If it doesn't work or causes some kind of problem, I'll go back and have him fix it."

"Huh, what if it just poisons me instead?"

"Then I'd kill him," Vergo said, without missing a beat, "In the most excruciating way yet invented."

 _And then I'd kill myself too._ Doflamingo smirked, the unspoken words reverberate with such thundering conviction they may as well have been spoken. This was why Vergo had always been his favorite.

Slowly, he brought the filled glass to his lips, downing it all in one go.

* * *

xxx

* * *

As it turned out, neither Caesar nor Vergo had to die in the end.

Doflamingo was ecstatic, swaggering about the ship with a huge grin plastered to his face. He said hello to everyone he came across, caused more than a couple collisions and terrorized some of the newbies until they looked on the edge of weeping.

And all the while he was alone.

Rosi was gone.

"You did well, my _Corazón_ ," he whispered that night, as his hand crept beneath the sheets.

Vergo lay flat on his back, toned chest rising and falling with each red-faced gasp. A blissful smile was faint on the usually stoic line of his mouth. He'd gotten off so quickly that it was almost pathetic, but Doflamingo refrained from any taunts. The man had earned that much at least.

"I've been thinking about those connections you made at the naval base," he continued, pulling off a quill pen from Vergo's cheek. It had been stuck there the entire time, even when the bed had nearly broken under their combined weight.

"They won't be an issue," Vergo said softly, "I fed them some lie about how I was a recent cadet who joined to support his sick sister. For all they know, I'm back at the academy now."

"Hm, that's what I mean. Maybe that's where you should be."

Doflamingo dropped the quill carelessly to the ground, paying no mind as Vergo's blank gaze turned to him.

"It'd be convenient, don't you think? To have a pulse on the Marines."

"Do you want me to go?"

He smiled, leaning over to look Vergo in the face.

"Only if you choose to. You know I would never force you into anything," he set an elbow against the bed frame, propping himself up with a hand, "But I do trust you the most. Plus, they already recognize your face so infiltration would be even easier."

Vergo was quiet for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he reached up and brushed the edge of Doflamingo's hair.

"I'll go, Doffy," he said, "If that's what you wish, then I'll go."

Doflamingo's smile widened. "You do spoil me."

But Vergo only smiled back. They sat there for a while more, the gloomy light of a single lantern casting monstrous shapes across Doflamingo's pock-marked room. It was with a slightly ridiculous, but present consternation that Doflamingo observed them. He supposed on some level, he was still waiting for Rosi's tiny blonde head to melt out of the dark.

Reaching over Vergo, he snatched up the wine bottle from the dresser, swallowing a huge gulp. It tasted like bitterness and blood—this Caesar character was no connoisseur—but Doflamingo felt better for it.

"Did you ever tell Trebol?" came Vergo's voice suddenly.

"Tell him what?"

"About your brother. How you've been…seeing him everywhere for the past few years."

Doflamingo peered down at him, raising a slight brow before scoffing. Trebol was nosy enough as it was and meddled in his business plenty. The man didn't need any more legroom.

"No, it never occurred to me."

"Really? Not with Diamante or Pica either?"

Doflamingo shook his head. "Just you."

Vergo was silent again, a bemused air about him. Doflamingo drank more wine and figured the conversation was over when Vergo spoke once more.

"He left you, Doffy." The tone was suddenly hard, suddenly angry and cold. "You should forget about him."

Doflamingo didn't immediately reply. More calmly now, he regarded the desk and chairs and bookshelves of his cabin—all of which Rosi had appeared on at some point or another. He'd been such a source of torment for so long and still Doflamingo could not bring himself to hate him just yet. Not the real Rosi—the one he still kept memories of in some rusted crevice of his heart. Not his Rosi.

"He's family."

" _No._ " The mattress creaked as Vergo sat up. "Family is loyal to you, Doffy. Family stays by your side. Family never _betrays_ you. _We_ are your family. Not _him._ "

In his vehemence, Vergo even grabbed his bicep, turning Doflamingo around so they were looking at each other. Beneath the shadows and with only one available eye, Doflamingo just caught the fierce clench in Vergo's jaw. He might've removed said jaw entirely by this point if it was anyone else, but because it was Vergo, he only sighed.

"Well, it hardly matters now. He's probably dead."

It probably took all of Vergo's self-control to keep from saying, _Good._

Doflamingo almost smiled. He was…a little flattered that Vergo was so worried about him. At least that's what he interpreted the warm weight in his chest to be.

"A long time ago," he found himself sharing, "Rosi asked me to release this bird that I had trapped. It was his birthday and he said it was the only gift he wanted from me. This one thing, if I could just give it to him."

Vergo grunted. "Why? What were you planning to do to that bird?"

"I'm not sure. Kill it most likely."

There was a sharp pause. Then an even sharper snort.

"Like I said, he interfered with you too much. Why would you want to see someone like that again?"

 _I don't know._ Doflamingo thought and remembered the ghost of tiny fingers encircling his wrist.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Vergo left at the end of spring. The year seemed to drag on without him, but Doflamingo's focus returned in force. With feverish and ruthless energy, he set about clawing his way back up the grimy rungs of the New World, re-establishing territories that he had surrendered in his distraction.

The sun that summer hung like a smoldering coin, as red as the blood he rained down on the islands week after week.

In time, only vice admirals were dispatched after him and his crimes flooded the papers. They called him, "Heavenly Demon," as if they thought themselves clever.

Caesar, who he found was far more useful than being a mere creator of medicinal wines, proved a valuable partner. Doflamingo had a lab built for him on Punk Hazard, where he began researching the possible creation of Zoan Devil Fruits for Kaido. He supplied Caesar with whatever materials the man requested. His growing prominence as "Joker" in the underworld had made it relatively easy to access almost anything.

He never had to look far for sources in vats, machinery or human test subjects.

There was still the occasional bout of paranoia or nightmares, but the wine kept most of it at bay. Until one day in the fall, Doflamingo realized he had started forgetting the contours of his brother's face. He was upset for several minutes, before calming himself down.

Sometimes, it was better to let things lie.

* * *

xxx

* * *

In winter, they discovered a butchered tribe of fishmen. No survivors except one.

Dellinger was small. Dellinger was loud. Dellinger was of no use to him whatsoever, but Doflamingo knew he _would be_.

"You take care of him," he said, holding the infant out to Jora. The frail creature fussed and wriggled in his arm, making him slippery to hold. Being soaked in the blood of his kinsmen didn't help matters either.

Jora squawked in protest, embarking on some long-winded rant about gender expectations until Doflamingo simply shrugged. He figured Dellinger would get the kindest upbringing with Jora, but had no qualms with a much harsher one under Diamante or Trebol.

Either way, they were taking him.

Maybe Jora worked this out for herself too, because she grew pale as bone at the glint in his smile.

"Never mind," she said, reaching out, "Forgive me, Young Master, I'll take him. Please let me take him."

Doflamingo snickered and handed the baby over. Dellinger babbled happily as he nestled down in Jora's arms, still holding a fistful of Doflamingo's coat for comfort.

There was so much room to mold this child into whatever he pleased.

Children in general, he was realizing, would be far easier to train than sailors set in their ways. With decades of habits, superstitions and stupidities to scrape out of their brains.

He was onto something _so very_ interesting indeed.

* * *

xxx

* * *

When Doflamingo was twenty-four and the new year had begun, they found a stranger almost his own height sitting alone at a port.

He had blonde hair and brick-dust eyes and was just as clumsy as he had been fourteen goddamn years ago.


	4. frater

**frater - "brother"**

* * *

Rosinante asked a lot from his brother when they were children. He understood, however basically then, that the things he asked for should not have been _considered_ a lot—that it would not have _been_ a lot for most people, be it their parents or himself or anyone else.

It was only that Doffy was not like most people. He was not like their parents and he most certainly was not like Rosinante.

He used to imagine a hole inside Doffy somewhere, one just large enough for a vital piece to have fallen out. So his brother could look and speak and act like any other person, even while his blood blackened, his eyes shriveled to dust and his mind ticked to a careful, reptilian beat.

Rosinante must've spent half his childhood trying to find that missing piece of Doffy's. He had scoured the plains of his big brother's heart for that glimpse of color, that flash of affection and mercy.

 _(Doffy, please)_

 _Let the bird go._

 _We're okay now._

 _No, no, don't talk to them. Don't talk to him._

 _(Please, Doffy)_

 _Can't you do this for me?_

In hindsight, maybe it was worse that Doffy tried. Whether it was from instinct or obligation, Rosinante knew his brother wanted to make him happy, even if he didn't have the first idea how.

And Rosinante was soft. Rosinante was weak. He had...never been able to turn away.

It's why he's still standing here to this day, peering into that thick and treacherous darkness, screaming his brother's name.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosi did not smile anymore.

There was no brightness in his eyes. He's a jumble of bruises and scrapes and sullen indifference that ill-matched the softness of his memory. Doflamingo took him aboard regardless, cleaning him up, feeding him, getting him into some decent clothes.

"What happened to you?"

No reply. There were new scars along the back of his neck and shoulders, slicing across the flat blade of the bones. Staring at it made Doflamingo's eye twinge. His heart was drumming, but he couldn't understand why.

His first blank thought was to shake Rosi until he said something. His second was to beat him black and blue for leaving.

Neither of these seemed advisable.

Diamante and Pica couldn't figure out how he was even here. They only stopped trying to conjure theories when Doflamingo told them quite plainly to shut the fuck up. At least Trebol was silent, though he hovered near Doflamingo's quarters like an overgrown fly even after the door was slammed in his face.

"I thought you were dead," Doflamingo said softly, as he dabbed ointment on the little cuts his brother had accumulated while trying to follow him below deck. Their knees were an inch apart and even though they were hundreds of miles out to sea and surrounded by the shimmer of the captain's cabin, Doflamingo felt the past breathe between them like a living thing.

He's certain Rosi felt it too, because once he's finished, his little brother flinched away, the long hard body caging inward. Doflamingo let him be.

He couldn't get over the fact that Rosi wasn't tiny anymore. That he had muscle now. That he had scars.

Nothing like the eight year old boy he'd been seeing on loop for almost six and a half years.

His head was starting to hurt.

Doflamingo walked over to his desk and took a swig of wine, more out of habit now than actual need.

"You know I searched years for you," he said, into the still air, "I can't believe you survived."

The bed groaned as Rosi stood and walked up next to him, shoulders aligned. He was staring at Caesar's wine bottle and picked it up slowly.

"Ah, I wouldn't recommend that," Doflamingo cautioned, "Tastes like shit."

Rosi gave him a very flat look. Rosi did. This was surreal. Doflamingo thought he'd been getting better, but maybe he'd just snapped completely instead. Maybe this was the grandest, most elaborate hallucination his brain had doled out yet.

God, his head hurt.

With a wince, Doflamingo rubbed at a temple and turned his face to the shadows on reflex. He pushed up his glasses and massaged the knot of pain thrumming between his brows. It didn't do much and he knew a migraine was coming.

"A room will be prepared for you," he said, "And then you can decide tomorrow what your next step will be."

He didn't say, _Stay with me._

He didn't say, _Don't leave._

A hand stopped him before he could replace his glasses again. Somehow, Rosi had gotten in front of him and nudged him back into the light.

Doflamingo grimaced in pain, squinting slightly while his vision adjusted. The right eye stung and felt strangely raw. A couple of blood vessels may have broken again based on his brother's expression, which was wide-eyed and full of startled concern.

"It's okay. It happens sometimes."

He tried to pull away but Rosi held on, gripping his wrist. They hadn't seen each other in fourteen years and his palms were rough with calluses, but the touch didn't feel intrusive. It was the same gentle, but insistent pressure. The same cool and clammy skin.

And Doflamingo knew suddenly that this was not a dream. It was not a hallucination or a nightmare or another withered ghost. It was Rosi. It was _real._

His chest twisted and he examined this ache carefully and thought maybe he was happy.

His brother's free hand rose up and ran a thumb over the tired crease of his working eye. It traced the jagged scarred line of his blind one. Rosi really did look troubled, almost to a surprising degree.

A guilty one.

He should've studied this more, or heeded the cold, speculative whisper at the back of his thoughts. He should've pursued this moment of suspicion with all the savage diligence he'd become renowned for.

Instead, Doflamingo asked, "Will you stay?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

He didn't know it would be like this.

Doffy had lost the left eye after all. It hung at the center like a lost moon, opaque as sea stone, cold as death. The right one looked into him, bloodshot and lined, heavy with black rings.

Rosinante's heart trembled and shuddered. He held his older brother's face in his hands.

He didn't know it would be like this.

Doffy paid none of it any mind. That smile which had so frightened Rosinante in those bygone days was swimming on his lips. He looked hungry and hopeful and weirdly young.

"Will you stay?"

Maybe it was amazing enough that Doffy posed it like a question and thought to give him a choice at all. Rosinante could never keep track of what he should be expecting from him. He both understood Doffy too much and too little, and sometimes it was exhausting.

Rosinante let his hands fall, his brother waiting with barely concealed impatience. He should just nod. Nod and move on with the rest of the plan. It was so simple a thing and maybe it all would've been a lot cleaner between them if he had.

( _But what had been the last thing he'd ever said to Doffy, all those years ago? How could any of that be what was left to lie?_ )

Rosinante was soft and Rosinante was weak.

He could not close his heart. He could not turn away.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Yes," Rosi said, voice scratchy and low, "I'll stay."


	5. terra nullius

**terra nullius - "nobody's land"**

* * *

The crew took Rosi's presence in stride. Not that Doflamingo would have accepted any dissent in the first place, but they seemed genuinely fascinated—observing his brother from afar like they would a new, mysterious animal. Lao G ascribed it to the remarkable physical resemblance he shared with Doflamingo, especially since most of the crew figured their young master had no blood relations left at all.

"I'm sure a couple of them also assume you fell out of the sky one day a full grown man," he added, sipping his tea dryly—a comment Doflamingo ignored with practiced ease.

Rosi himself did not seem to mind the scrutiny. Maybe he was use to being gawked at from the astounding number of pratfalls and mishaps he had on a daily basis (and _wow, that had certainly not improved_ ).

Doflamingo acquired the black feather coat for him just out of a hope that the weight would somehow counteract Rosi's complete inability to balance himself. It was a hope in vain.

But his brother bore the snorts and the whispers without care. Without a single breath towards anger. His patience was silent and unflinching and stirred Doflamingo's memories.

Some things never did change.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Perhaps predictably, the only ones who took real issue with Rosi were his executives. Trebol in particular seemed to hate his brother beyond measure or description, while Diamante and Pica were hardly thrilled either.

It was a problem that was becoming more annoying by the day. As if Rosi was a puzzle piece he'd spent forever trying to find, only to discover he would always be an inch too small to fit.

"Maybe it's a sign, Doffy."

He blinked, gaze sliding to the Den Den Mushi adorned in Vergo's likeness. Today, a razor blade hung from its cheek.

"A sign?"

"That he doesn't belong here."

A vein sprouted at his temple. Doflamingo grinned.

"Are you questioning my decisions, Vergo?"

"Never," came the prompt reply, "But I do want to remind you of the facts. He ever explain what happened to him?"

Doflamingo's expression smoothed, the spark of anger forgotten. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.

"No. Says he can't remember much."

"Nothing? He's been missing for fourteen years, Doffy. You're telling me the trauma was _that_ severe?"

Doflamingo was quiet. A hazy flash of his parents came unbidden to mind. His mother's still hands. His father's bullet-ridden body. ( _I WISH YOU WOULD DIE_ )

Rosi yanking on his sleeves, beating on his chest with tiny fists. Crying. Always crying. His terror had been to Doflamingo's eternal consternation. Father was dead, it's not as if he'd felt it. This whole detestable situation had been _**HIS FAULT**_ anyway. Had they been expected to just follow suit? To just lie down and die as well?

Rosi's head was up in the clouds. He never had understood a thing.

"He was weak," Doflamingo said, "But I'll change that."

"So you believe him?"

"Yes."

A long, toneless beat.

"…Then he'll get no trouble from me, Doffy."

That at least made Doflamingo smile, his many teeth glinting. He couldn't help himself and prodded further, "Even if I name him the second Corazón?"

The second bout of silence was much more acute. To his credit, Vergo composed himself within seconds.

"If that is your wish," he said softly, "Though I do think you should hold off on sharing too much with him. Like what I'm currently up to for example. The background checks won't be such a joke as I move higher up in the ranks and who knows what could be found."

Doflamingo cocked his head. It did make sense to keep the number of people aware of Vergo's status as low as possible. He wouldn't want Rosi to ever have the information tortured out of him.

"Fair enough."

The Den Den Mushi gave a respectful nod. There was a rigid air to the motion though and Doflamingo smiled again, a rendition that was softer at the corners.

"…He's my brother through blood. I know you don't like it, but he is. He's family."

There was a sigh.

"Doffy, I just—"

"You are too," Doflamingo let his smile fade, "He's not a replacement, Vergo. No one is. Everything about this crew, this ship, Rosi, _you_ —all of it belongs to me. Only me. And I won't let a single one of you go. You will _never_ be able to leave the Donquixote Family, Vergo. Not until it _suits my purposes._ Not until I dismiss you personally."

The line went still for so long that Doflamingo's eyes narrowed.

"Do you understand?"

"…I understand."

The voice was barely a croak, almost breathy. Almost, dare he say, _aroused_ and Doflamingo's brow shot up in amusement. Here he was trying to have a serious conversation and Vergo was getting it up. How inappropriate.

"You won't fail with the Marines, will you?" he said, deliberately coy, "You'll keep at it for me."

"Always," he swore and Doflamingo guffawed.

"That's a snail you're looking at, idiot."

"I've already shut my eyes."

Doflamingo shook his head. He really did miss Vergo sometimes.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosi became Corazón. No one liked it and Doflamingo didn't care.

"You're as strong as ten normal men," he said, as his brother chain-smoked on the quarterdeck, "And I've seen you with a gun. If they try to give you shit then just put them in their place."

Rosi sighed. "It's not that," he said, lips pursing, "It's _them._ Diamante and Pica. Vergo. _Trebol._ Why did you…at that time I…I thought you were done with them."

For a second, Doflamingo didn't understand what he was referring to, before he remembered. Huh. There had been a time where he'd rejected them, hadn't there? The first meeting. Seemed like another world now.

"They had what I needed."

His brother's gaze was skeptical.

"And what did you need?"

Doflamingo smiled. Instead of answering, he surveyed the main deck, eyeing a group of fresh recruits playing cards beneath the foremast. One man was throwing down his hand in outrage, kicking over the crate he'd been sitting on.

 _A sore loser._ Doflamingo tutted and raised his hand. Ring finger and thumb.

The man's screamed as he was tossed overboard, crashing with a wet slap into the sea.

The air fractured with yelps and swearing. With an ugly curse of his own, Rosi dropped his cigarette and grabbed the rail. He was about to vault off the quarterdeck when Doflamingo snatched him by the wrists with crushing strength. Hissing with pain, Rosi struggled, but Doflamingo held him there for almost five minutes, both of them listening to the man drown.

"What the hell Doffy! Let go—!"

He froze. The grin spread against his ear, two fine rows of teeth.

"What I _needed,_ Rosi, was power…"

Doflamingo flicked his wrist, bending his index and middle finger now and the body was yanked out of the waves, tumbling back on-board like a pile of soggy laundry. The man vomited up seawater and jabbered in terror, his bewildered peers circling around him. Senor Pink and Lao G, the officers on duty, didn't even glance their way.

Doflamingo laughed as the strings snapped in his palm. He released his brother and leaned against the railing, nodding towards the sopping man below.

"Power and choice."

Rosi stared too. His face was pale, or maybe that was only a reflection of the dreary, gray-washed day. When he spoke, his voice was measured and lowered to a hush.

"That's what he tried to give us, Doffy."

The grin dropped like a dead thing.

"You are mistaken. That's what he took away."

Rosi didn't reply. They faced each other, toeing the edge of some unspeakable line. They didn't know how to cross it. They didn't even know if they could _._

At last, Rosi retreated, expression cooling into emptiness. He lit another cigarette and turned from the deck.

"By your leave, Young Master."

There was not an ounce of sarcasm in the words, but Doflamingo scowled anyway, forcing Rosi to wait a beat before nodding. Their shoulders grazed as his brother passed him by.

For a while after he was gone, Doflamingo remained at the railing, mood officially soured. The stench of brine saturated the ship, soaking into the floorboards. An old, sad voice rolled in the spray.

 _I am sorry you had to have a father like me._

Doflamingo gritted his teeth so hard his jaw creaked. Spinning on his heel, he stormed down to his room in search of wine.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Eventually, Rosi got with the program. By the end of the first month, a wobbly truce had been established between him and the other executives. They mocked and jeered him, but never escalated to full-on hostility, while Rosi ignored their existence whenever he could.

Doflamingo was pleased.

He was even more delighted to discover how _capable_ Rosi was as a killer. It was fairly interesting to watch—his long, usually graceless limbs moving with precision and restraint, granting instant death and never spilling more blood than necessary.

His eyes were always blank and cold. Like he fought on reflex and instinct, while the real essence of him was somewhere far, far away.

Perhaps it was all a tad on the bland side, but Doflamingo couldn't help feeling some pride. Some familiarity.

It was easier dealing with Corazón, than a little brother who could not bear the death of a bird.

* * *

xxx

* * *

His bounty climbed by the month. By April, Tsuru had made a point of stationing herself semi-permanently in the North Blue, taking slow laps around the islands just so he could never relax.

Bounty hunters and crews looking to make a name (and there were plenty of these suicidal fools to go around) began staging raids.

In Doflamingo's opinion, Rosi was at his most impressive then. He could not afford to be careful in close quarters combat. He could not afford to be kind.

"You've really surprised me," Doflamingo said, after a particularly gory encounter, "Though I'm starting to see that's nothing new for you."

Enemy blood was sprayed across Rosi's temples and neck and hair. Green-tinged rookies swabbed the deck, skirting around him like they were afraid he would reach out and tear open their throats. He hadn't moved in at least three minutes now.

Doflamingo observed him with bemusement, perching on top a bench with his legs folded while Dellinger scrabbled at his knee. The boy was just getting in his, _eheh,_ teeth, and was even more slathered than Rosi. He was pretty sure all the stains on his otherwise pristine clothes were just from Dellinger climbing all over him.

Rosi was staring particularly hard at the child, eyes severe under the fringe of his bangs.

"Why is he out here?"

"He was helping."

"Could've gotten in the way."

Doflamingo shrugged, though he was starting to frown.

"Jora thought he needed the exercise."

It was near imperceptible, but the angle of Rosi's shoulders stiffened. His brother never quite managed to wipe the horror off his face when he saw Dellinger. That had always been Rosi's issue after all. He saw only details; Dellinger was an infant, an orphan, he was small, he was innocent, they were pirates, so on and so forth.

Not once had his brother ever considered the bigger picture. The means to an end. You could not have a weapon of your own design if you didn't begin honing it from scratch.

It was frustrating.

"Has it never occurred to you," Doflamingo found himself saying, "That he actually might be happy here? Where he's provided food and shelter and all his wants and needs are met? Has it never occurred to you that we might have saved him from a far crueler fate? That he'd be all but dead now without us?"

Dellinger babbled and crawled under Doflamingo's arm, snuggling into the feathers of his coat. He blinked at Rosi with owlish eyes.

His brother moved finally, frame slumping.

"Do you care about that kid?" he asked, "Do you love him?"

"He is mine," Doflamingo replied, honest for once, and his brother gave him a look precursor to confrontation. Doflamingo was rather tired of arguing. The crew and executives were counting loot beneath the quarterdeck—over two-million beris total from the amount they'd taken from the bounty hunter ships. This was _his_ victory, _his_ conquest and he wasn't going to ruin his own mood fighting with his brother for the hundredth time this week.

Dellinger squealed with joy as strings pulled over a basket of fresh towels. Doflamingo plucked two out and wrapped the infant in one of them. The other he offered to Rosi.

"Here. Clean yourself up. You look disgusting."

Rosi took the towel. He did nothing for a second but stare at it, before plopping down next to Doflamingo with a sigh.

"Thought you said red was my best color."

"Hmm." Doflamingo regarded a shallow wound near Rosi's brow, right above his left eye. It bled sluggishly and his own scar ached.

"Not always," he conceded.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doffy had horrific nightmares.

Rosinante did not hear them or see them. The walls were thick and his brother barely slept four hours at a time. No one else told him. No one else had any idea. Rosinante didn't know why he knew, but he did.

The first time, Rosinante paced in front of Doffy's door for hours, agonizing over whether to enter. Concern and pragmatism churned through his mind, vying for control. He eventually fell asleep in a sprawl at his brother's doorway and didn't wake up until he literally pitched over the next morning when the door opened.

Doffy's face was pale and pinched. He looked vaguely ill even with the glasses hiding his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he croaked, and it was half reprimand and half a sigh. Rosinante did not often feel chided by his brother, but he did then.

"I…" he fumbled, both lies and truths warring on his tongue, before his shoulders fell, "…I'm not sure."

Doffy stared at him and despite Rosinante's own height, his brother seemed endlessly tall from the floor. He almost flinched when he squatted down suddenly, so they were eye level.

A hand, wide and long, deceptively gentle, touched his head. It brushed aside hair from his eyes, fingers stretching over his cheek. He was checking him over, Rosinante realized with a clenched heart, reassuring himself. The past breathed.

Doffy's smile was faint. Rosinante wondered why the only time it didn't scare him these days was when it looked in pain.

"You're alright, Rosi."

He stood and staggered past him, the wine bottle swishing in his hand.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Jora was the one who found Gladius.

Black-eyed and blood-caked, the kid's body was more or less one giant mottled bruise. He sat in front of a warehouse, hugging his knees and shaking like a rattle. Jora had not dared to go inside and Doflamingo was glad she hadn't.

He didn't care much for what he saw in there either.

Even Pica and Diamante looked vaguely nauseous when they exited and Rosi fumbled for his cigarettes, lighting a stick with quivering hands. He even shared his carton with Senor Pink.

Doflamingo slid the door shut. He assessed the kid, still nameless then, with narrowed eyes.

"Well, aren't you a nasty one?"

"Young Master, please," Jora lurched forward, face pale, "he's just a boy. He didn't—"

She was silenced with a look.

Doflamingo's hand glowed orange and on instinct, his family gasped and backed away several steps. Only Rosi didn't move, eyes wide.

"Doffy—"

The boy raised his head. His pupils were the size of coins beneath the dark, ratty bangs.

Overheat exploded from Doflamingo's palm, blasting through the warehouse and setting it aflame in seconds. Diamante cursed, scrambling to dodge a piece of burning debris, while Senor Pink yanked a screaming Jora out of the way. Pica was gaping at him. So was Rosi.

He ignored them all and knelt down in front of the boy.

"You can run now," he said, "and no one will ever know what happened here."

Surprise flickered across the pallid features. Doflamingo smiled and lowered his voice further, as if he were sharing a secret privy only to the two of them.

"You can run now, _but you will always be alone._ Without a soul to turn to. Without a single place to call home."

Terror glittered like diamonds in the blank depths of those eyes. Doflamingo stopped himself from sniggering. He dropped the smile and whispered gently.

"Or, you could come with me. Sail the seas and be part of my crew. I'll give you freedom and protection. Nothing will ever hurt you again."

"…Nothing?" the boy's voice was cracked and soft.

"Yes," Doflamingo said and meant it, "You would be one of my family. One of mine."

The boy stared at his hands, at the smoking inferno of the warehouse. He shivered and licked his bloodied lips.

"…Family?"

It was as good as a 'yes.' Doflamingo finally let himself grin. He took off his feathered coat and wrapped the boy in it, uncaring of stains, and carried him to the ship personally. The others trailed after him like ants in a line.

Rosi hung towards the very end.

His stare bore a hole into the back of Doflamingo's head.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Machvise was picked up in an underground fighting ring.

The meeting was really just a coincidence, because they were only there to restock supplies. Doflamingo's head was pounding and he was running out of Caesar's wine. He didn't want to do anything save lie in the dark of his room, but Rosi managed to coax him out for air.

His brother was always worried about the migraines. Excessively worried. He asked a lot of odd questions about when they started, how bad they got and how long they'd last. Even more for the wine, which Rosi wanted to know the composition of, the possible side effects, who made it and blah blah blah.

He'd gladly take a walk if it meant avoiding another incessant bout of questioning, even if he doubted Rosi had meant for them to stumble upon the fights.

The makeshift stadium reeked faintly of sweat and urine. Cigar clouds floated in the dim lighting. There was a lot of tension he had to dispel when eyes landed on them, but the matches were fascinating enough that he didn't mind.

"I've got ten grand down on that one," he said, leaning over his brother to helpfully point.

Rosi sighed and pushed his arm away. Not that he didn't glance down too.

"…The black singlet? Why?"

"His name's Machvise. It's his seventh run as returning champion."

An eyebrow rose. "Oh, so that's Machvise. His name was getting thrown around everywhere earlier."

"Hehe, yes, he's an interesting one. He only accepted the prize once, after winning all the rounds his first time, and has been turning it down ever since."

"What was the prize the first time?"

"The Ton Ton no Mi."

Rosi stared. "We've only been sitting here for about five minutes. How do you know all this already?"

Doflamingo clucked his tongue at him. "Little brother, you must be aware of your surroundings. I'll have you know I've compiled entire reports on the underground rings here a long time ago. There's no way I would just walk into such a suspicious-looking building without even—"

"Doffy, I can see the pamphlet sticking out of your sleeve."

He looked down, saw it was true and casually tucked it back out of sight.

"…what was that?"

His brother made a swipe at him and they grappled for a second or two, before Doflamingo let him snatch it. Rosi collapsed into his seat with the crushed pamphlet in hand, looking kind of triumphant even as he grumbled "jackass" beneath his breath.

Doflamingo laughed. He hadn't been intending to and it came out genuine, surprising them both. There was another beat of staring.

Again, Rosi turned away first. A smile ghosted his lips though, even if Doflamingo had only caught it for a second. Just this once, he decided he wouldn't comment.

They watched the rest of the matches in a silence that was almost comfortable. Without surprise, Machvise bulldozed through every round, speeding up to the top of the chart with ease. When he crushed the final contender too and the crowd roared his name, Doflamingo knew what he wanted.

"W-Why me?"

Despite towering over both of them, Machvise was a shy man, who stammered and addressed his shoes when they met him after the crowd dispersed. He was having a hard time processing Doflamingo's offer, which was one-part amusing and two-parts exasperating.

"Because you have promise. I think you're something pretty special."

Machvise grunted, smiling a small sad smile. His gaze traveled to the suitcase of Beris sitting beside him, already packed up for return.

"No, I'm not anything."

Doflamingo held in a sigh.

"Why do you keep competing here?" he asked, trying a different angle, "The fights must be child's play considering you've eaten a Devil's Fruit. And it can't be for money, because you've never accepted the prize."

Machvise blinked at him and Rosi's gaze honed into the side of his head, indecipherable.

"I…" Machvise glanced at the suitcase again, before his cheeks reddened, "…I like the noise."

"The noise?"

The man's head bowed, his comical little police cap being rung in ham-sized fists. Something like humiliation cast over his face.

"The cheering. It's the only time I ever…it's the only time I hear my name."

They were silent.

Pity flickered across Rosi's face and Doflamingo tilted his head slightly. He supposed he could agree there was a pathetic air about Machvise. It's what made the prospect of his recruitment even more enticing. Strength and skill were all well and good, but Doflamingo preferred them with the added insurance of dependence—a lack of something he could easily fill with his own image.

Doflamingo did not see someone to be pitied. He saw a crew member in waiting.

"Join my family," he said, softening his voice, "And I promise you will never have to worry about that again. You'll hear your name all the time, every day, so much that you'll grow sick of its sound."

Machvise's tiny eyes grew wide. "…Really?"

Doflamingo nodded. He didn't smile. He already had him, but needed to show his sincerity. He didn't even notice Rosi was staring at him oddly then, and continued not to until they had led Machvise onto the ship and deposited him with Diamante.

"What?" Doflamingo asked, brow arching.

His brother shrugged. "Just thinking about what you said back there to him. It was…kind of you."

"Heh, I sense astonishment. You don't think I'm capable of being kind?"

Rosi was silent, gaze steady and thoughtful.

"I think you do what you can, Doffy," he said, "I think maybe…"

He stopped and then shook his head. A slight smile curved across his mouth again. It looked different in some way, but Doflamingo failed to pinpoint how.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"You think he can change?"

Rosinante's fists clenched. Sengoku's deliberately even tone aside, the words sounded foolish when repeated back to him.

"I don't know. I mean…sir, you weren't there, you didn't see—"

"You've read Tsuru's profile on him."

Rosinante paused, staring at the Den Den Mushi. Read? More like memorized. More like etched every word into the walls of his brain. _Anger. Sadism. Lack of empathy._ Rosinante shuddered.

"You even added footnotes," Sengoku's tone grew stern. "You said he was a monster."

He closed his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair. They'd been words unleashed in a moment of pain and sounded overly cruel to him now. Doffy wasn't a monster. His brother was so many, many things, but a monster?

Rosinante didn't believe it.

"He's my brother. He's always...always tried for me."

Sengoku sighed, as if Rosinante was still a tear-stained child. As if he was still naïve.

"You can't let him hide behind that excuse forever, Rosinante," he said, "Trying is not succeeding. It's not understanding. It's not _enough._ I know you want to help him, son. But I also know you agree."

Rosinante had no reply.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He's out of wine on a Wednesday. Marines intercepted Caesar as he was bringing the shipments for delivery and mistook the crate for drugs. They were all food for the fishes now, but the bottles were smashed.

Caesar groveled with incessant apologies. Vergo was angrier than Doflamingo could even try to be. He offered to beat the scientist to death, which was hardly productive. Caesar was too useful. He needed him for Kaido.

Doflamingo let him go with the simple request of making more and delivering them when he could.

"Will you be okay?" Rosi asked, when he learned, "You won't go through…withdrawal or something?"

"Hm? Of course not. I haven't really needed it in a while anyway."

"I'm sorry, Doffy." It was so sudden and solemn a tone that Doflamingo finally looked up from his book.

"What for?"

But Rosi was gone. It was only much, much later that Doflamingo would realize he had never shared what purpose the wine had served at all. His brother had seemed to know regardless.

* * *

xxx

* * *

On Thursday night, Doflamingo opened his eyes and knew he was dreaming.

The ocean sprawled before him, cresting and rolling waves glittering in the darkness. Crisp clouds shifted above, inching along past a white sliver of moon. The marrow of his bones ached at the smell of salt and rock, his blood curdled at the water's proximity. It was a place stripped of life, empty and ancient. An improvement, he supposed, over his usual fare.

With a short sigh, Doflamingo sat down on the raft, eyeing the tiny figure before him.

"It's been a while."

Rosi's face was blank. Seeing him at twenty-two and then now again at eight years old made Doflamingo realize how truly malnourished he had been. The collarbone jutted out at angles and his blonde hair was dull and thinned.

In spite of everything, pride still filled him that Rosi had escaped the hell of that life. That whatever had happened to him, it had made him strong. He was glad Rosi didn't let anyone hurt him anymore.

"Why are you here?"

A clatter. Two feather-light shapes landed on the wooden floor in front of him with barely a stir. Doflamingo blinked.

They were toys. Wind-up dolls that were withered from rough handling and grime. They resembled the broken figurines Doflamingo use to find in the trash, all of which he would sift aside in search of an apple core or chicken bones.

One was shaped like Gladius. The other like Machvise.

Doflamingo snickered, looking back at Rosi.

"What the hell?"

He picked them up, letting the helpless little things sit in his giant hands. Almost like birds. The winding keys were rusty and fractured. Latches gaped open in their chests, where the clockwork gears hung in stiff suspension. Both motors were missing.

Doflamingo hummed.

"You think they're broken now, Rosi? Pitiful and dismissible? Just because they're missing a piece of something and don't work the same way?"

No answer.

Doflamingo propped an elbow on his knee, supporting his chin. "Perhaps they aren't what they could've been. Or even what they were supposed to be. But I think you should know better than most what it means to be a victim of your stars."

Rosi didn't move. This version of him did not do much of anything but bleed and cry and keep Doflamingo awake at night. He set the toys back down, propping them up against each other.

"What is deemed abnormal or a misfit or a _freak_ are all simply constructs made by the many to condemn the few. Things are always changing, terms being reapplied, time marches on and on to no one's beat. Who has the final authority to say what is wrong and right? What is _cruelty_ and what is _mercy_?"

Doflamingo gestured at the blue expanse about them.

"Everything, one day, will be buried at sea." He grinned and even the darkness shivered, because the words were a promise. "Yet they would still judge these poor souls as contemptible and _different_ , deny them acceptance or a sense of belonging."

He stretched out his hand, fingers flexed.

"No one wanted them but me," he said softly, "I'll give them a place, an identity, a chance. I'll give them everything the 'justice' of this laughable society has sought to take away."

 _Why can't you see that?_ Doflamingo wasn't sure why he didn't say it out loud. Not even in a dream.

"Besides, so-called defectives make the world interesting, don't they?"

The compartment latches of the dolls shut with a click, hiding the hollow spaces inside. He hardly noticed when Rosi's shadowy eyes lifted, staring at the spot where his own heart should beat.

"So desperate to fill the hole inside."

He crooked his middle finger and pinky. The toys stood to attention, stumbling and shaky like newborn fawns. He had them totter to the edge of the raft and stick their heads in the waves.

Doflamingo's laugh echoed and echoed into the sea. Rosi looked pale. He looked sick and sad.

 _Why?_


	6. vade retro

**vade retro - "go back" or "step back," an exorcist incantation**

* * *

Four more months passed.

The Donquixote Family became almost a household name in the North Blue. Earnest new crews and captains still cropped up, but they blustered more and more steadily at each other and less and less at Doffy.

These days, his brother traversed the Grand Line as if it were his own private lagoon. Nothing challenged him. Everything feared him. His presence in those waters grew akin to a shrouded deity, leering and untouchable.

Rosinante supposed Doffy had never really had any true competition in the first place.

Gifts and tributes overflowed the cargo holds—an ancient, eerie reflection of their manor in Mariejois that made Rosinante pale and queasy.

"He's getting out of control."

Sengoku's flinty stare lanced from the Den Den Mushi. He had no idea how a snail could capture the expression so accurately but it made him feel like a boy again.

"Yes, sir."

"We need to stop him before he can expand his weapons trade beyond the New World. You said he's been mapping out Reverse Mountain, right? That must mean he's heading for Paradise."

An indicative pause that Rosinante played dumb to.

"…Well, with all due respect, maps hardly imply a concrete plan's been made. He's still preoccupied with some things on Punk Hazard. I haven't got much detail yet, but there's a lab of some kind. He's made a deal with the head scientist there—"

"Yes, you've mentioned. We're still working on a name unfortunately, but…he's also the winemaker, correct?"

Sengoku's voice implied the question was essentially rhetorical. Rosinante winced, his meager attempt at changing the subject swatted down like a fly.

"Correct, sir."

"And as you've reported last time, the most recent shipment of wine was delayed and lost in transit."

"Yes."

"Meaning he's currently out of supply anyway and it's not really a prime concern at the moment."

"…Yes, sir."

Sengoku sighed, a crackle of static. "We're looking into Punk Hazard, Rosinante, I promise. You need to focus on the current issue at hand and find out if he has a plan for Paradise. This is a mission you personally volunteered for, son."

Rosinante's mouth flattened, hand tightening on the speaker piece.

"I know," he started, "I'm sorry, I didn't...he's not as different as I'd expected him to be, I-I wasn't…"

The words twisted around themselves, a snake eating its own tail. Sengoku waited though. He always waited and eventually Rosinante managed to wrestle his tongue into a semblance of his feelings.

"…I'm just...what's that wine for? He drinks so hard and he already has headaches, nightmares. His eye, it's...he was a child. He didn't deserve the things that happened to him—"

"And you did?" Sengoku's voice was gruff, though not unkind. "You lived through it too, Rosinante. You were a child as well. Don't absolve him of the choices he's made."

"Yes, but I had you." Rosinante meant it too much to be embarrassed. "I had the marines. Doffy only had—" He paused to steady himself, stemming back the anger and disdain.

"He only had what he didn't need."

Silence. Rosinante had the distinct feeling Sengoku was pitying him, and sighed.

"Can't you just ask Tsuru-san to chase him around some more? I'll give you the coordinates to our next location."

"Son, the old gal could chase him to Raftel and back, and it wouldn't change a thing. He'd find a way to shake her off, like always, and then return again. She can't stop him. There might even be a day soon when no one can."

Rosinante's stomach sunk. The snail's gaze was firm and pointed.

"You ate that fruit for a reason, Rosinante. And the reason hasn't changed, whether you ended up using the fruit as planned or not. Can you repeat it for me?"

He hesitated. The old man didn't typically have much encouragement to spare on this particular endeavor of Rosinante's. It was a little hard sometimes, listening to the things he had to say.

But of course he obeyed in the end, a whisper cracked apart in the center.

"I wanted to save my brother."

"Then save him," Sengoku said shortly, "in the only way he can be saved."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo almost didn't hear the knock on his door, so obliterated was he by the stabbing pain in his head.

Rolling to his feet, he stumbled across the room, wincing at a particular pinch in his right temple.

Dellinger had reached a horrible phase where he only wanted to be held by certain people and wailed the roof down if anyone else so much as attempted to intervene. For whatever reason and _most_ unfortunately, those certain people only seemed to include Jora and himself.

And Dellinger was not particularly accommodating towards migraines. He'd had a bitch of a time trying to hand off the near-toddler to Gladius, just so he could go deal with the problem in peace.

Suffice to say, his mood could've been better.

" _What?_ " he hissed, yanking the door open, "Trebol, now is not the ti—Rosi?"

His brother stood blankly in the archway. The dim corridor remade him in feathers, smoke and shadow, but they could not hide his face. How pale it was. Doflamingo's anger drifted off, replaced by puzzlement. It was becoming a weird little recurrence, Rosi at his doorway.

"…Why are you here?"

His brother fidgeted and shifted weight from foot to foot. Like some parody of a scene from when they were boys, Rosi begging him with young, wordless eyes to take the blame for a smashed vase.

Only they weren't boys anymore. And there was nothing young about Rosi's eyes.

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

He stared. His brother stared back like he was already expecting refusal.

"Why?" Doflamingo said carefully, "What's wrong?"

Rosi's shoulders slumped. "I don't know…sorry, never mind…"

He turned to leave and Doflamingo stiffened at the echo of pain he caught in his eyes.

Rosi had been looking more and more upset during the past few months in general, even though the Family was stronger than ever. Even though Doflamingo could not fathom what there was to possibly be upset about. Some whispering voice in him kept wondering if he should care that Rosi wasn't happy. That no matter what, Doflamingo just couldn't seem to make him happy.

It always rattled off plenty of reasons to give him up—distraction, liability, _you have PLANS to proceed with, he left you anyway…_ Sometimes it sounded terribly similar to Trebol and just as pointless. Doflamingo was already perfectly aware after all, that he was better off not caring about such exhausting things.

…It's just that he's cared for a long time, hasn't he?

Truly all his life.

And at the core of things, Doflamingo was not a creature fond of change.

"It's alright," he said, "Come in."

* * *

xxx

* * *

"But keep it down. Head's killing me."

Doffy slid off his shades, setting them on the dresser. He had a habit of turning his bared face towards the shadows, but Rosinante caught a glimpse of his good eye. It was crimson with burst veins again.

His brother sat down at the side of his bed and rubbed at his temples. The skin there was practically raw. Rosinante frowned, reached out and guided his arms down.

"You'll make it worse."

The slightly larger hands in his were quivering with tremors. Rosinante's jaw screwed tight with concern. He was aware Doffy had them sometimes with the headaches. His brother tugged out of his grip, before he could try to still the shaking.

"Hmm, it'll be fine."

The mattress creaked as Doffy turned on his side, his back towards him.

"I'm gonna lie here a while. Do what you want, Rosi."

There was some incredible irony in those words that Doffy didn't have a clue about. Brick-dust eyes trailed across the lantern-lit cabin. The captain's quarters. All the ugly secrets and contracts and plans stored away in shelves and drawers.

It would've been imperative to search through whatever he could. A responsibility, as his old man would say.

But that night, Rosinante could not bring himself to bother. He sat down on the floor, spine against the bed, head an inch or two from his brother's.

"Can I smoke?" he asked and heard Doffy grunt his permission.

"Don't set my room on fire."

"Oh, shut up. I'm not that clumsy."

Doffy sniggered. It sounded pained. They leaned back into the silence and let it pool around them like sand. Rosinante lit his cigarette carefully.

"…Is it withdrawal after all?" he asked after a full minute had gone by.

Doffy grunted. "No. Just Dellinger. He's going through a…rather difficult phase. My head can't take it sometimes." A chuckle. "Here I thought fish were some of the quieter pets out there."

Rosinante bristled.

"Maybe if he _were_ a pet," he said, voice growing hard, "But he's not, Doffy. He's a child and if you're not able to—"

"Relax," Doffy said, with flickering annoyance, "We've done this song and dance enough times, don't you think? It was just a joke. You should know by now I don't see Dellinger as a pet."

 _No, a pet would require too much from you._ Rosinante forced his shoulders to loosen. He inhaled a lungful of tobacco and nicotine. They would've languished into another silence, if Doffy hadn't spoken again. Softly and pensively.

"…Whatever your opinions of him, you should know he's going to be extraordinary."

Rosinante tilted his head, the edge of his hair grazing his brother's.

"He can out-swim the ship by miles already. His instincts are honed like a knife. He can barely talk, but he's already picking up basic strategies. And his _teeth_ , I saw him chew through a steel beam once with only his teeth."

Doffy giggled and then suddenly shifted onto his back. His profile looked cruel and lean, doused in shadows, contorted with grinning.

"I have big hopes for him, Rosi." His arm hung over the bed's side, limp fingers trailing the floor near Rosinante's crossed legs. "Just a few more weeks and he'll be ready for Paradise."

The cigarette fell from parted lips, smoldering on the ground.

"…What do you mean?"

"Until his bite strength's fully developed. Fighting fishmen mature pretty quickly."

"But why do you need him for Paradise?"

Doffy's glance carried a hint of offense.

"Reverse Mountain of course, don't you listen at the meetings?"

Rosinante was a hundred percent certain that he listened more closely than anyone. It hadn't been mentioned. _Shit._ Trebol tried all the time to exclude him from the higher-level executive discussions too. Had this been one of them?

"Must've been zoning out," he said, forcing himself to sound sheepish, "Sorry, you mind filling me in again?"

"God, you little shit, I really don't know what to do with you sometimes," Doffy muttered, sighing. He sported a grin though and Rosinante had a feeling then that he didn't particularly mind repeating the details.

"There's a key entrance southwest of Twin Cape that's been blocked off by Marine ships. The plan's simply for Dellinger to swim in from below and…poke a few air holes around the hulls. Then we'll lure them to open ocean and pass on by while all those silly little bastards rush around and drown."

He cackled. A wicked, empty sound.

"Lo and behold, _Paradise._ "

Rosinante told himself to breathe. Keep calm. Keep calm. Pray his brother could not hear the thunderous mania of his heart.

"Take out a whole naval blockade? That's some intense risk you're talking about. How do you expect a child to accomplish that?"

"Oh, he will." Doffy sounded almost proud. "He's been practicing with Pica. Jora tells me he's quite excited. I'm certain he won't disappoint me."

"What if something happens? What if he gets trapped, or hurts himself?"

"He won't," Doffy said, near dismissive, "He's a smart boy and knows what he's good for."

Rosinante turned around. For once, he was grateful for the long swathes of shadow made by the lantern light in Doffy's room. Surely, his brother would've been able to see the icy alarm in his face otherwise.

Doffy's hand trailed the ground, the nail of the index finger dragging along the floor. For a second, they were claws and Rosinante knew then what had to be done. He tried one last time anyway.

"He's a child, Doffy."

His brother merely smiled, spreading his other hand over his eyes, one blood-brimmed and the other blind—both lightless circles lifted towards the ceiling. The voice came from a cold, shuddering darkness and held no smile at all.

"No one is for long."

 _Not for long. Not for long. Not for long._

* * *

xxx

* * *

In the first week of September, Tsuru's ship suddenly found them again.

She did not give up pursuit this time, no matter where he led her. Through rain, sleet, cyclones and whatever other fucked up weather pattern the New World could summon, she would follow, nipping at his heels like a hound with a blood scent.

Usually her staunch determination was quite amusing, but it was now beginning to grate on Doflamingo's nerves. It was too close to the planned date and she was forcing him further and further away from Reverse Mountain.

"Full sails," he snapped to Machvise, "Break out the oars if the winds alter. We're gonna shake this ancient dame."

The giant man nodded, rushing to the main deck to bellow commands. Footsteps splattered over the drenched platform and Tsuru's ship heaved towards them in the gathering fog. It was turning broadside, the sleek mouths of cannons pushing into view.

"Oh, _fuck_!" Diamante yelled, scrabbling for him, "Doffy, she's about to-!"

"I know."

He flicked his wrist, strings coming loose in his hand. It took exactly five strands and two leaps to grapple to the crow's nest, where he quickly spun together a web to stand on.

Cries of shock rang out below and among those was Gladius's frantic shout for him not to move, not to worry, I'm coming to get you down, Young Master! Doflamingo really needed to have a talk with that boy.

Longer, coarser threads erupted from his palms, spiraling out towards sea as the cannons in the distance ignited.

"Heh, brace yourselves," he muttered to approximately no one and stretched them taut.

He had to grind a Haki-infused elbow against the mast when the web caught the two cannonballs, nearly splintering through the wood in the process. The sheer momentum made the entire ship tilt forward, dropping at least a dozen screaming men into the ocean.

Doflamingo threw out his arm and sent both projectiles hurtling towards the horizon.

He did this at least six more times, catching and deflecting cannon fire with his strings before Tsuru finally seemed to grow tired of the endeavor.

Savage glee twisted his grin as he watched the cannons retract. _Catch me if you can_.

A wave of cheers greeted him when he glided down from the mast, no small number of awe-filled glances and gaping either. Doflamingo's smirk widened. He took a moment to soak in the praise.

"They're backing off, Young Master!" Senor Pink called from the stern, "I think she's giving up!"

Trebol clapped his hands, slithering back up from where he'd taken refuge below deck. Diamante and Pica started demanding for everyone to bow down to the Young Master's prowess.

And Doflamingo's smile began to fade. Suddenly relenting when she'd been chasing him for days was unlike her. He was inclined to the fanciful notion that she'd been intimidated by the display, but knew better. Tsuru wasn't afraid of him. She never would be.

"Fish out whoever's fallen overboard," he ordered, "And then back to speed."

Another roar of 'ayes' and 'right away, Young Master's' followed.

He was just slicking blonde hair out of his face, when Rosi sprinted past him—soaked to the bone too, maybe even more so. Doflamingo had lost track of his brother during the chaos, but now watched as he crashed towards the railing. A group of men were struggling to drag something on board and Rosinante batted them aside, yanking up the rope with laughable ease.

Doflamingo would've lost interest right around there if Jora hadn't then spilled onto the deck. She hacked up water—colorful hair and dress sopping against her skin. Bright blood trickled from a cut along her thigh.

"Young Master!" she shrieked, staggering, trying to hurry towards him. She tripped and would've smashed her nose in if Rosi hadn't steadied her. Doflamingo's scowl deepened and he stormed over, kneeling down.

"What the hell? You were supposed to be below deck. How did you end up in the water?"

"I-I…I c-couldn't…" Jora swallowed and it wasn't seawater all over her face on closer inspection, but tears and snot. She grabbed his arms, having never been so forward before. He didn't like this at all.

"Calm down," he said, "What happened?"

Jora took several gulping breaths that neither calmed her nor halted her stuttering.

"…h-he got the back compartment o-open somehow…tried to s-stop him but…just too f-fast…and t-there was a net…they…th-they…"

A deathly, suffocating silence descended upon the ship. Jora's nails were digging into his wrists and Doflamingo didn't even feel it. There was a hum starting in his ears that was muffled and dull. He heard himself speak softly into it.

"Where's Dellinger?"

Jora's skin was so white it was bordering translucent. Smeared mascara dripped down her chin. Doflamingo had the very abrupt and vacant thought that he was going to kill her right there if she didn't answer him within the next second.

Then she raised a hand and pointed towards Tsuru's ship, slipping further and further into the distance.

"P-Please forgive me."

Doflamingo was running.

The hum grew loud and rippling, drowning out every sound.

 _Mine he's MINE how DARE she_ _ **TAKE WHAT IS MINE**_

Senor Pink had already vanished from the bolted down spyglass. It squealed as Doflamingo wrenched it towards him, almost torn out of the floor.

He angled it towards Tsuru's ship just in time for him to see Dellinger get hauled on board. The boy was gnashing his teeth through the netting, glowing eyes flooded with tears. The tip of one of his tiny horns was already wet with blood from having gored someone. Tsuru's crew members were trying to soothe him, but he kept screaming and wouldn't let them near him and _he didn't like to be held by anyone but—_

"Doffy, you have to get him back!" Trebol wailed, "We can't reach Paradise without Dell!"

Doflamingo didn't even look his way. His gaze followed only Dellinger. The movements of his small, soundless mouth.

Lip-reading had been a crucial skill to learn when they'd been on the run all those years ago. It was hard not to be when their lives balanced on the insidious rumors of townsmen.

Doflamingo had taught himself when he was nine. He'd never forgotten it again.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _(No, no!)_

Mine

 _(Soppit!)_

 _(Leggo!)_

 _(Waka thama!)_

He's

 _(WAKA THAMA)_

 **MINE**

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosinante tore across the ship before Doffy could climb onto the railing. He barreled past, or maybe over, Senor Pink and Gladius and whoever the hell else, before throwing all his body weight into tackling his brother.

They hit the deck hard, landing in a jumble of limbs and Rosinante had to bite back a gasp of pain as Doffy's elbow jammed into his stomach. His brother was snarling like a wild animal, veins protruding every which way across his face. He didn't look like he was even seeing what was in front of him, let alone Rosinante.

" _ **I'LL KILL THEM!**_ " he raged, "ALL OF THEM! EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE OF THEM!"

The sound tore a hole through the sky, sent a wave of prickling gooseflesh across Rosinante's arms. Terror in the crowd around them swelled like a rising tide.

Doffy yanked himself free and was on his feet again. Rosinante made the mistake of blindly grabbing for him and was socked in the jaw so hard stars erupted in his vision and his knees buckled.

 _Fucking hell._ Blood gushed and puddled in his mouth. He supposed he should just be relieved Doffy hadn't been in the mindset to slice his head off instead. Rosinante scrambled up again, vision winking in and out. Doffy was stalking back towards the rail.

He lunged, clumsily snatching a shoulder and wrist. His brother's roar echoed through his skull and a brutal wave of Conqueror's Haki flattened the ship a second later. Rosinante cringed at the sound of bodies collapsing on the deck. He'd been on the receiving end of Doffy's haki once before but _god,_ it certainly hadn't felt like this. Like a freight train slamming into his face. Mind wavering, Rosinante blinked, knew he should've just let himself pass out, but clung to consciousness stubbornly.

Tsuru's ship wasn't far enough away yet. He had to stall for time until she was clear. Until he was certain Doffy wouldn't be able to rope the child back into this life.

"Doffy!" he yelled, shaking his brother slightly, " _Doffy, listen to me!_ She's heading back towards the whirlpool channels! The ship's taken too much damage already, we'll capsize trying to follow!"

"Y-You butt out of this C-Corazón!" Trebol shouted and Rosinante groaned, having hoped the man would've gotten knocked out with the rest of the crew. He did look a wreck though, skin puce-colored, nose running even more heavily than usual. Ready to fall flat on his face in another handful of minutes.

"Forget about us, Doffy! Go get Dell back!"

"You trying to send him to the bottom of the sea?!" Rosinante snapped. It was three-fourths for the sake of distraction and one-fourth true concern. Doffy was completely crazed. He couldn't let him leave the ship like that.

"Go now!" Trebol insisted and his brother turned to the open waters, only one audible word on his sneering lips.

" _Dellinger…_ "

Rosinante was digging grooves into his brother's flesh. The soaked floor and the flickering, concussion-ripe edges of his vision made it almost impossible to keep his feet. " _Doffy, stop,_ " he said anyway, clearer this time, through clenched teeth and thrumming heart.

He was not eight anymore. Not powerless or helpless anymore. He could handle his brother.

What was the point of him otherwise?

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Let them go._ "

The ocean exploded with fire.

Doflamingo froze, a sharp gasp catching in his throat. The incessant humming in his head shattered like a glass wall and his vision came back into focus. All the fury threatening to boil his brain alive cooled, clearing out like a banished devil.

The ocean was on fire.

Wraiths rose out of the depths, cupping flames in their spindly hands, lifting them up like torches. Orange and yellow, flecked hues of blue and blood. Inimical voices littered in shadow and waves. The screaming, swearing and sobbing. Crowbars against wood, against meat and hair and columned spines.

A ten-year old boy hung from the mast of Tsuru's ship, blindfolded, an arrow stuck through the crevice of his eye.

Doflamingo's hand rose mindlessly to his own, caging around his scar. Nails scratched down his skin. He felt cold all over, like skittering fingers were prying open every sealed corner of his mind.

" _Doffy?_ "

Something caught his hand and wrested it away from his face.

" _It doesn't have to be this way,_ " a voice said softly, " _You let him go, alright?_ "

 _Let him go. Please._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(A week and a half swept by.

The Donquixote Family's encounter and escape from Vice Admiral Tsuru faded into the passage of time. The nameless members of the crew held hazy memories at best, non-existent ones at worst. For a while, the entire ship tottered along delicately, as if all suffering from the same hideous hangover.

Only officers were called to have an audience with their Young Master and given any real instruction. Jora cried. She had sung Dellinger to sleep, fed him when he woke, been the first face he'd seen in the morning and the last he'd seen at night. She'd been everything to him and in even more ways, he'd been everything to her. Some part of Jora wanted to beg the Young Master to reconsider, wanted to fall on her knees and ask him to bring her child back for her.

But she was anything and everything, save a fool.

As for the executives, Diamante and Pica felt a shifting in the air, a near palpable realignment that jarred their already problematic status quo. The four suites of a deck were equal only in name. Their Young Master was a king and a king had his favorites.

Corazón the First scaled his grave, mirthless way up to Marine Commander and then Captain. He had Caesar work for seventy-two hours straight, making three crates full of medicinal wine when he heard the news.

The veins in Doflamingo's cheeks did not settle for days—he was seething, but also oddly cold inside, and he loathed to comprehend or deal with any of it. Thus, Corazón the Second spent most of that week burning through cigarette packs, reassuring his brother of the realness of this or that and having plenty of nightmares of his own.

And Trebol spent it hating him more and more and more).

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Nene, Doffy, let's dock at the next port."

"Spider Miles? Why?"

"Gotta surprise for you. You'll like it veeery much."

"…Oh? How so?"

"Let's just say I picked up a couple pet projects for you. You've been bored recently, yes?"

"Hm…am I so transparent?"

"Behehe, never, Doffy, never. I just know you. I know you very, very well. What do you say?"

"You're up to something, Trebol, and you're too fucking close again. But…heh, fine. Why not."

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Oh and look here, our last executive."

Rosinante stiffened at the nasally, congested voice. Trebol's hulking form squelched up the ramp towards him and he had to school his expression as the man came into view. Two children followed at his side, peeking out behind his coat.

"Kids," Trebol said, "Allow me to introduce Corazón. The most _esteemed_ and _illustrious_ member of us all. Second only to our captain."

He stared Rosinante directly in the eye, smiling. He waved a hand over the girl first and then the larger boy.

"Corazón, this is Baby Five and Buffalo."

"Are we gonna get more food soon?" the boy said, rubbing his belly with cheery indifference, while the girl beamed, eyes febrile and hungry-bright.

"Good day, my liege, I'm ready to be useful!"

The newspaper crinkled in Rosinante's hand.

" _What is this?_ " he asked, with as much slow measure as he could handle. It only seemed to delight Trebol more.

"Behe, recruitment season," he said, and placed two giant, slimy hands over the children's heads.

"Welcome to the Family, kiddies."


	7. innocens

**innocens - "harmless," "blameless," or "innocent"**

* * *

" _Why do you look at me that way?"_

 _Doflamingo asked only once. There, in a town square of bodies. Half-delirious with pain and an arrow stuck in his eye. Both their faces filthy with tears._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Trebol had a keen eye for untapped potential. For all his other tiresome quirks, Doflamingo would give him that.

"I swear that's half our food stock," Diamante muttered, while they lounged around, watching the new additions stuff their faces, " _Hey brats!_ Are you planning to stop anytime—"

"It's fine."

"But Doffy—"

"They're family now, Diamante," Doflamingo folded his arms, letting one leg hang off the sill, "We mustn't be stingy with family."

The boy, Buffalo, looked up, swallowing down another slice of pizza. "Wow, thanks Mister…uh, what was it…Young Master! You're a nice guy!"

Doflamingo chuckled, and as Diamante scolded Buffalo for his forwardness, he leaned over to prod his brother with his foot. "Did you hear that? I'm _nice._ "

Rosi didn't answer. He didn't even look as if he'd noticed, his troubled gaze lingering on the children. A muscle in his jaw was taut and Doflamingo's mood instantly began to darken. He'd always disliked being ignored and his temper had yet to fully recover from losing Dellinger.

" _Corazón,_ " he snapped, a hint of temper that made Diamante flinch and Rosi finally blink up at him.

"You must be thinking of something rather important, little brother. Are we interrupting you?"

It's more irritation and derision than true curiosity. What thoughts could Rosi be having anyway, that Doflamingo didn't already have an inkling of. His brother must've realized this too, because he only shrugged and returned to leaning against the wall.

"It's nothing. Sorry, Doffy."

"Airhead," Diamante muttered, snide. It rolled off Rosi like water and Doflamingo's scowl deepened.

"Don't waste your energy thinking about pointless things," he warned, "It isn't useful to anyone."

"Oh, oh, I can be useful!" Baby Five's head shot up before Rosi could respond. Cherry jam was smeared over her mouth, staining the teeth of her eager smile. She looked at them with twinkling eyes, hands clasped, as Buffalo stole the rest of her sandwich.

"Tell me what you need me for, young masters! I promise I'll do it well!"

Diamante was riled within seconds. "There's only one Young Master here, you little shit!" he jabbed a bony finger in Rosi's direction, "Put this ditz on the same level as our Captain again and I'll beat your ass into the ground!"

Baby Five clapped her hands, giggling. "Yay, yay! Something's required of me! And it's so important that I'm being threatened!"

She was almost bouncing in her seat. Doflamingo was vaguely amazed by the degree of reverence she directed at him. Desperation lurked in it like a shadow beneath water. It was disturbing as all hell and he loved it.

"Fufu, what a mess you are, girl," Doflamingo leaned against the window, smiling slowly, "Just eat your fill for now and get cleaned up. I'll be counting on you both shortly."

He may as well have promised the moon. Baby Five spun back to the table with near-crazed gusto and started cramming food into her mouth. She's eating so quickly that Doflamingo had to amend his previous statement and order her to slow down lest she choke.

Diamante cracked up. The novelty of discarded children had never worn off for him. He made a joke about servants that Doflamingo only half-listened to.

Rosi's face was ashen.

* * *

xxx

* * *

For the entirety of that fall, his brother kept his mouth shut about the children. It was actually no mean feat, since they seemed determined to remind the entire ship of their presence at any chance—running everywhere, breaking things, babbling three hundred miles per minute to anyone pretending to listen.

The crew regarded them first with distaste and eventual grudging acceptance. Gladius was intrigued with the prospect of being around people remotely his own age, while Jora doted on them as if she were trying to atone.

They certainly held a different vibe from Dellinger, who had not been old enough to wander unsupervised and had never gotten underfoot as a result. Even more striking was how fast they adjusted, picking up group dynamics and cues within days and not batting an eye at some of the more…unsavory aspects of the pirate lifestyle.

Impressive, as far as kids went, and Doflamingo didn't really think Rosi had any cause for complaint, which only meant that he eventually _did._

"They were imported."

Behind the shades, Doflamingo rolled his eyes, regarding his brother with annoyance. His office would host many more of these stand-offs in the years ahead, Doflamingo reclining in his chair, Rosi leaning over the massive desk to glare at him.

A folder of Baby Five and Buffalo's personal files lay strewn between them, his brother's hand flattened over the contractual terms Trebol had left lying around. Doflamingo twitched. Damn fool should've had the copies destroyed first chance he had.

"Only from a neighboring island," he said, "They were on the boat for three hours at most. It was basically a ferry ride."

"That's not the _point_ , Doffy. These kids could've been kidnapped. They could've had families or homes wherever they were taken from."

Doflamingo stared.

"You obviously haven't spent much time with them if that's still your impression."

A flash of pure chagrin crossed Rosi's face.

"Doesn't mean they're alone."

"They are."

And it wasn't even a total lie. As Joker, he'd gone digging for more information on the children weeks ago, learning many of the grittier details even the seller couldn't have provided.

Baby Five had most assuredly been abandoned, spending life on the streets and in between masters, fostering that incessant need of hers to be wanted. Buffalo's parents had been brutalized and killed during a mugging. He might've had other relations somewhere out in the four seas, but what did that matter.

As far as Doflamingo was concerned, this was the only home the kids needed to involve themselves with from now on. The fact that Rosi couldn't get this through his skull was starting to agitate him.

"Why are you so set on having brats on board anyway?" his brother was asking, "They're too small to do actual work on deck and they'll just get in the way during fights. They don't serve any purpose for you, so _why?_ "

 _Why not?_ Doflamingo bit the words back, despite them being the first ones to slither into his head.

"Stop thinking in the short term," he said instead, "Children are an investment, Rosi. What you collect in the future depends entirely on how much time you're willing to give and what you plan to do in that time."

Rosi's lips pursed.

"Investment? You're a pirate captain. What kind of investment are you looking for? A ring of junior hitmen?"

That painted a funny picture. He could recognize the advantages.

"Heh, we'll see."

"Doffy!" Fire blazed in Rosi's eyes. He clutched the side of the desk in one shaking hand. "This isn't a game! We should take them back—"

"Where." It was not phrased as a question. "Take them back where, hm?"

The amusement had gone out of Doflamingo's face like a doused candle.

"You forget your place, Corazón."

A heavy, frigid silence charged into the room, whitening the hot anger in each of their breaths. Color drained out of Rosi's face and left it hard and gray. Doflamingo eyed him closely, danger lurking in the shadows of his expression.

He wondered what he would do if Rosi expressed true defiance towards him. He realized he didn't even know.

And he was a bit thankful Rosi wasn't dumb enough to find out.

"I apologize, Young Master," his brother said, tone acidic, "I was out of line."

Doflamingo had a lot of things he wanted to reply with then. _You always are. Don't test me again. Why are you angry? Don't get in my way._

"Get out," was all he ended up voicing, "I'm tired of seeing your face today."

* * *

xxx

* * *

They ignored each other for the rest of the week.

Sengoku suggested a second chase. Another joint operation for Baby Five and Buffalo similar to what they'd done for Dellinger. Rosinante vetoed the idea without a thought. Doffy would never fall for the same ploy twice. He was already more paranoid of marine ships than ever before.

And secretly, the depths of Doffy's rage that day had pierced Rosinante to the core. Not so much out of fear (though that was there of course, just a little bit, always), but caution. His brother's temper was nothing new to him, but to have it coupled now with ten-feet of height, Devil Fruit abilities and Conqueror's Haki...some care was definitely required on his own part.

For the time being, the children would have to stay.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _What do you mean, Doffy? What way?"_

" _That way. Like you're scared. Do I scare you, Rosi?"_

" _No." Rosinante answered quickly. Maybe too quickly._

 _His brother laughed. He was laughing more and more these days and Rosinante hated it. Blood dripped off their chins to the same languid beat._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Baby Five had never had a family before. She found it quite wonderful.

Every day, there was someone who required something of her, whether it was another pot of tea for Lao G, helping Pica-san polish his helmets or holding someone up for money with Trebol-san. Machvise let her sit on his shoulders to dust high shelves and Gladius went out of his way to teach her how to shoot guns.

She got to spend time with Buffalo whenever she wanted and wasn't even starved or beaten for mistakes. Yes indeed, Baby Five could get use to living in a place such as this.

There was only one thing, really, that would make it even better than perfect.

"Good morning, Corazón-san!"

A momentary side-glance and a grunt! Baby Five beamed at the acknowledgement, while Corazón-san stepped over her head like a person would a pebble, coffee mug in hand. She had to jog to keep up as he strode down the hall.

"Ne, Corazón-san, do you have any orders for me today? Do you, do you?" Baby Five had managed to receive and complete a request from every single member of the Donquixote Family except Corazón-san, who seemed to avoid her and Buffalo a lot in general.

Maybe he hated kids or was afraid of them? She did remember Jora whispering to Lao G last week that Corazón-san had had a very tense argument with the Young Master about her and Buffalo. Word traveled super fast through the ship just like in the streets, so it must have been recent.

It was too bad, because she liked Corazón-san. Something about his eyes. And he was very handsome and tall, and reminded her of the Young Master.

Baby Five tapped her chin thoughtfully as they walked/jogged. Maybe a compliment would get him to like her a bit more. They always got _her_ to do just about anything. She could even pay Corazón-san one of the highest compliments she knew. Her previous master had given it all the time to handsome men like him and usually got a very happy reaction as a result.

"Ne, Corazón-san…I get so hot looking at you."

In retrospect, maybe Corazón-san was just a little different from the men her previous master had spoken to (Diamante-san had even said he was a very special kind of person), because he dropped his cup, tripped over his own feet and went down with a crash into the lounge.

Baby Five gasped, covering her mouth as the mug shattered, splashing hot coffee all over the floor and onto her shoes.

"Oh, dear!"

Corazón-san sat up, rubbing his head, as she dropped to her knees, puzzling over how to best clean up. Unfortunately, she'd worn out the last of the rags yesterday night and the deckhands didn't let her use the mops. She would've gladly ripped strips from her dress instead, but it'd been a gift from Jora. Baby Five's scrunched her face. Well, at least the cup was easier to deal with.

"What are you doing?"

She blinked, broken glass piling up in her hands. Corazón-san was staring at her. It was the first time she'd ever heard his voice. It sounded strong, as deep as the Young Master's.

"I'm taking care of it," she replied promptly, crouching down for another shard, "You don't have to worry, Corazón-san. No one will even realize this happened when I'm done."

"What—that's not—no, stop. _Stop,_ you're going to hurt yourself."

A big hand suddenly fell on her wrists, gently taking the coffee-stained pieces she'd collected. Baby Five blinked again, craning her head to look at him.

"Is that what you require of me?"

Corazón-san's eyes flickered.

"I don't require anything of you."

At first, the words didn't make sense to her. Baby Five spent a belated second or two blinking stupidly at him before her eyes widened, numbness shooting through her body. The center of her vision grew hot and blotchy, until Corazón-san was nothing but a towering blur of dark feathers and pink hearts. It felt vaguely as if she'd been gutted.

 _Corazón-san did not require her. She could not find a way to be necessary to him._

"Shit." Corazón-san was kneeling down. His hand fluttered for a second at her face. "Why are you crying?"

"You don't need me, Corazón-san?" Baby Five asked, not even feeling the tears roll down. "Am I a useless person to you?"

For a second, they stared at each other.

Then Corazón-san sighed and rubbed his eyes. He reached for his cigarette pack. A wispy drag of smoke fanned out into the air. Baby Five didn't know why he bothered angling it away from a waste of space such as herself.

"Okay," he murmured, "Okay, fine, how about this? Corazón-san is kind of a mouthful. It's probably troublesome to say. From now on, I'd like you kids to call me…Cora, instead."

Baby Five's head whipped up, tears forgotten within seconds. "Cora…san?" Excitement thumped in her heart.

"And that's what you need of me?"

Cora-san just nodded.

His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not. They never quite did and they never quite would.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _I don't know how to be anything else." Doflamingo's voice was low. He was the one crumpled against the wall and yet Rosinante felt infinitely smaller. Why was their father taking so long?_

" _You shouldn't talk anymore."_

 _Doflamingo shook his head. There was nothing in his expression, nothing that wasn't as cold and hollow as glass and Rosinante bit his lip._

 _He hesitated only once, before crawling over, scooting beneath his brother's arm. The stench of blood was overwhelming, but he pressed himself close._

" _Maybe sometimes," he whispered, "Sometimes, Doffy, I…I am a little scared."_

 _Doflamingo smiled. He said nothing for a very long time._

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Cora-san gave me a request today."

Although they ought to be sleeping, Baby Five was too giddy to relax. The ship creaked and moaned. Sometimes it was frightening, but tonight it sounded like music.

"Cora-san?"

"That's what Corazón-san asked me to call him from now on. He said you could call him that too."

"Hmm, Cora-san's so much easier to say."

Baby Five giggled, clasping her hands over her heart, "Isn't it?"

"Yeah, I like it…and you didn't think he was scary?"

She turned her head, giving the adjacent bunk a chiding look.

"No way! Cora-san's not scary at all, Buffalo. He was actually really nice."

"Well, he _looks_ really scary sometimes! And he fights with Young Master. Trebol-san doesn't like him at all. I heard him tell Diamante-san that he's ruining everything."

Baby Five blinked. "Ruining what?"

"I don't know."

"Hm, well _I_ like Cora-san. And shouldn't it be natural for them to fight? Because they're brothers."

"Yeah, I guess." They were both silent a moment. Then, because it'd been lingering at the back of her thoughts the whole day…

"Hey, Buffalo…why do you think Cora-san is always so sad?"

"Huh? What are you talking about? He doesn't look sad to me."

"Well, not on his face but…sometimes, in his eyes. Usually when he's speaking with the Young Master or looking his way. He just…he looks really sad." Baby Five wondered if the Young Master noticed it too.

Buffalo snorted. "That's stupid, Baby. Why would Young Master make Cora-san sad? Young Master's awesome!" In the shadows, she could see him turning towards her. "He taught us how to read. Doesn't call us stupid or yell if we mess up. And he lets me have extra helpings!"

Baby Five smiled faintly. She supposed she couldn't argue with that.

"I hope we get to stay here, Buffalo," she whispered.

"Me too," he whispered back, "Trebol-san said training's gonna get harder next week. You'll be okay, right?"

"Of course." She frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you don't have a Devil Fruit power."

"So? I've never needed one. And _someone_ has to save you when you fall overboard."

"I'm not gonna fall overboard! I can fly!"

Baby Five scoffed and flopped onto her back again. "Barely." But she wasn't actually angry. Buffalo was only worried about her.

"I'll be fine," Baby said, softly into the dark.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(She was not fine.

The pub's single fan whirled around and around on a half-broken hinge. Bourbon and gunpowder glazed the air. Baby Five was surprised she could smell anything at all with how swollen the left side of her face was. Three of her fingers burned. Sprained or broken.

A concussion scrambled her memories. She could not quite remember anything that had happened, save for the fact that Buffalo was _right._ She was not strong enough. There was no place for her in the Donquixote Family.

Baby Five was too tired to cry. She pressed her face into the leg she clung to, clenching white fabric between her fingers.

The Young Master's hand came down, dancing light for a moment on her shoulders before he continued walking.

"You're going to trip me, Baby Five."

She barely heard him, keeping her eyes shut tight. She didn't know what happened to the men in the bar after the Young Master arrived. It was all a storm of screaming, bullets and bad words that Baby Five had faded in and out of while lying face-down in the dirt. Now it was dead silent. Still enough to hear her Young Master's steps shift course as he walked, as if avoiding things on the ground.

She wondered if he had killed everyone.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I'm sorry, Young Master. I tried my best."

A soft, acknowledging noise. There was no heat in it. No pity.

"I know, Baby."

He wandered about the room some more, rummaging through bags and at one point prying open the cash register. It wasn't clear how much time went by, before his hand reached down to touch her again.

"Get off," he said and she instantly obeyed. He scooped her up before she could fall on unsteady feet and deposited her on a leather couch. Wires creaked beneath his weight as he sat down beside her.

Baby Five quickly huddled into his side again. She was cold and bruised all over and the child in her sought comfort. There was a corpse lying a few feet away, half-concealed behind the armrest. It wore a wedding ring and a cheap gray suit. Baby Five hid her face, burying it into the dark cradle of her Young Master's coat. He patted her back idly.

"Let's figure out your role," the Young Master said, "Clearly, you don't fare well in a direct fight."

Baby Five's shoulders drooped. She nodded, sniffling. "…Yes, sir."

Another silence reigned and Baby Five knew she should've been helping him brainstorm, but couldn't find the strength to do anything save stifle her whimpers into his shirt. The Young Master was even bigger up close and as warm as the summer sun. She didn't think he would let her hold on as long as she did, but he never pushed her away.

"Think I'll make you an assassin."

Baby Five stilled. She blinked up at him, face half-wreathed in pink feathers. "...an assassin, Young Master?"

"Yes." He crossed his leg at the knee, shifting so her shoulder ended up cushioned against his thigh, "You already have the code name. Plus, I've always found our operations lacked a…subtler touch. What do you say?"

Baby Five worried her lip. She had no idea what pirate operations should or should not lack, but he was asking her a question and giving her a role and she wanted to provide the most adequate answer she could.

"If that's what you require then…I shall work to be the very best assassin there can be."

The Young Master laughed. Deep down, there were times the sound unnerved her, but it didn't then. It was soft and real and made her feel safe. She could've listened to that laugh forever.

"I'm sure you will."

His giant hand ruffled her hair and Baby Five smiled at him. He smelled like honey and reminded her of gold. At the angle he was looking at her, she thought she could see the top half of one blue, blue eye, moving behind the rim of his glasses.

"You know I'll always be counting on you, Baby Five," his voice was firm and without nonsense, "I'll always want you to be necessary. So you have to promise, alright? That you will never stop being useful to me."

Baby Five nodded. Her eyes felt hot. She wondered if she was going to cry, so happy was she.

"I promise, Young Master."

He smiled. The hand slid down to hook her by the chin, brushing away one of her errant tears. She could sense his gaze roam over the crusted blood at her temple, the bruises of her cheeks. When he spoke again, it was quiet and measured.

"You're brave girl, Baby. A strong one. Can't wait to watch you grow."

She reached up to touch his hand and felt it close over her soul.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Cora-san, Cora-san!"

Rosinante sighed and slowed to a halt. Baby Five was skipping towards him with a smile spread wide. It had been weeks since the botched hit and her injuries had mostly healed, though a faint smattering of bruises and band-aids remained. It made her look smaller and younger than ever.

"Kid…" he greeted and was almost talked straight over in her enthusiasm.

"Ne, ne, Cora-san, look what I can do!" She raised her hand without waiting for him to react, palm up. Rosinante's eyes bulged as the flesh suddenly rippled and lost its shape.

"Is that…a bazooka?"

"Yep!" Baby Five rocked on her heels, brandishing the heavy artillery as if it were a pinwheel. "It's the Buki Buki no Mi's power! Young Master got it for me. Now I can be the very best assassin possible for him!"

A blush of absolute delight graced Baby Five's cheeks. Rosinante's nails dug into his palms.

"…You're really attached to Doffy, aren't you?"

"Of course! He's counting on me. He says I'm a brave, strong girl and he wants me to stay. I love the Young Master very much!"

 _But does he love_ you?

Rosinante swallowed. He could not bring himself to smile back.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Sometimes, Rosi," Doflamingo said, "I'm a little scared too. Sometimes, I feel like…I don't work how I'm supposed to, like something else is trying to climb into my skin."_

 _He turned, chin resting on Rosinante's head. His breath wavered. He wouldn't remember this conversation later or ever again._

" _I don't mean to be the way I am."_

" _I know, Doffy."_

" _I didn't want to let that bird go."_

 _Rosinante's breathing was just as shallow. Shallower even. He gripped his older brother's sleeve in his quivering, child hands._

" _But you did."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

The year ended with barely a cry. Gold Roger's bones lay eight years buried. Doflamingo was twenty-five. Rosi twenty-three.

The White City of Flevance perished in the dark.


	8. law: quam afflictus

_**law: quam afflictus**_

* * *

 _Where to begin…_

* * *

xxx

* * *

He fingered the pins of the grenades. They rattled and clinked against each other, oddly liquid, swishing, ( _or was that the gasoline tanks he was still seeing at the edges of his vision?_ )

The large fat one and the tall lanky one spat curses at him. The spiked one made no sound, watching his hands. Law didn't care who they were.

The glass of Doflamingo's shades was tinted red. Beneath Spider Miles' strangled sunlight, they glinted like wet blood. His face was demonic. The room reeked of smoke and metal and incinerated church wood ( _or did it? Law had not been able to smell anything else in weeks_ ).

"What did you say, boy?"

"I wish to destroy everything," Law repeated, and would repeat as many times as it took to be believed. Law felt no heat, no fear, no bluster. He was so full of hate that he could barely breathe. There wasn't enough room inside his child body.

Men, women, children, animals, everything, everything

 _ALL MUST PAY. ALL MUST PAY FOR WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO ME._

Doflamingo stared, elbows leaned on his thighs. Law imagined the empty gaze wandering his tiny, wasted frame, his bruises and cut-up face. Not impressed maybe. In need of convincing.

"Why?" Doflamingo asked.

"I was born in the White City."

Nothing moved. The henchmen's eyes dotted him, as if trying to locate where the Amber Lead slept, as if they could see it ravaging his skin. Law did not waste his time noticing them further. A tilt of interest finally peaked on Doflamingo's lips.

"Is that so? How sad for you." The tone was airy and a little amused. Much, much later from now, Law will look back on this moment and still have no idea what Doflamingo had been thinking.

"Come along if you want, little Trafalgar. That is, if you are truly ready?"

There was such coldness in those words, such thick, implacable darkness. All those terrified whispers about Doflamingo, all those unspeakable rumors, Law was certain of their truth then. He stifled a laugh, reshaped it into a smile, felt every broken part inside him shiver and shine.

"I am…"

( _dying, dying, dying_ )

"…ready."

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The first thing he did was dispose of the grenades. Five sticks and three fragmentations, _oh_ , how frightening. He wondered from where the boy had swiped them.

Trebol, Diamante and Pica hovered near his vacated chair. They warned him for a twelfth time to be careful. Doflamingo had no idea what they were so goddamn afraid of, because the boy barely moved.

He allowed Doflamingo to manipulate his arms up and down like a doll's, as he checked for more hidden weapons. Did they think he couldn't defend himself against this ailing, faithless, twig of a child?

Two daggers and a switch knife clattered to the floor. Doflamingo pulled out the handgun, half-tucked into the ash-blackened capris. It was far too large for him and the recoil could've dislocated a shoulder. He didn't doubt Law would've tried to fire it anyway.

There was something he recognized in this boy. Something ugly and hard, familiar in a sense he'd never felt before. It was downright fascinating.

"Is there anything else?"

The boy shook his head. A steady liar, Doflamingo noted.

"Shall I strip you to confirm for myself?"

That made the small face wrinkle. He yanked his arms out of his grasp and Doflamingo chuckled at the sudden childishness. Reaching under his shirt, Law peeled off something taped to the middle of his spine.

A toothbrush shiv was produced in his tiny palm, the blade made of glass and wire. It was well-constructed and Doflamingo whistled as he peered at its sheen, amused by its size. The boy must have whittled it for days to have it at such a fine point. It almost resembled a scalpel.

"Keep it," he said, when it was offered to him, "I appreciate good effort when I see it."

Law blinked. He did not smile or protest or speak. The blade disappeared back into his pocket.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo took him around personally for the introductions. Law did not honestly care to meet any of the freak-shows that manned this blood-splattered crew, but figured he should at least get a handle on which loons he'd be forced to deal with on a regular basis.

None of them, to his faint surprise, were fazed by the fact that he was a child. There was some resigned amusement at most, with lots of weird faces leaning down to examine him. No one in the whole damn building seemed to know what personal space was. At one point, Law was practically hiding behind Doflamingo's leg, but that didn't seem to impede them at all.

A particularly crazy lady named Jora even lifted up Doflamingo's coat to pluck Law into her arms. (Oh, you are adorable! Where ever did you find him, Young Master? Oh, so cute, so cute, I can imagine the little outfits I'll have you in already!)

The muscular guy next to her wearing _fucking rabbit ears_ asked Doflamingo if he was trying to start up a daycare. The casual insult blew Law's mind. He was almost certain he was about to watch the guy get hacked into pieces before his eyes, when Doflamingo simply retorted that Law had signed up of his own free will.

"Keep that in mind," he added, "before funny rumors get around." Jora and Lao G shrugged at the pointed stare, as if they didn't know what Doflamingo was going on about.

Law didn't either until they walked into the lounge last, where Baby Five, Buffalo and Gladius were trying to tag team Machvise in an arm-wrestling match.

The last time he'd seen anyone around his own age, it had been Lammy. Her crying, terrified face as he pushed her into the hospital closet, telling her to keep quiet, telling her he'd be back _soon_ ( _the closet where she would ultimately roast alive_ ).

It was jarring enough having that change, but then Baby Five and Buffalo rushed over immediately, circling Doflamingo on either side and essentially trapping Law in the middle.

"So you joined to be a pirate? Ehhh, is it because you didn't have any good food where you were? You look kind of like one of those warehouse kids. Oh, oh, is it because you didn't work hard enough? Is it because they beat you?"

"Law, huh?" Baby Five's expression was skeptical. "What a weird name. That's not your real one, right? You don't look like a 'Law' to me."

She got even closer, tried to touch him and they ended up weaving in and out of Doflamingo's legs for a beat, before Law managed to glare her into submission.

Doflamingo laughed. His grin curled even as Baby Five clung to his shin and whimpered. "You should learn to get along, Law. Worst of it isn't even here yet." The last part was half under his breath and Law blinked. He was nudged further into the room before he could ask however, with Doflamingo entrusting Gladius and Machvise to show him around the ship later.

"Young Master only has one rule," the former recited, after he'd gone, "Mistakes are forgiven, but betrayals will pay. In this sense, he's incredibly easy to please. Don't disappoint him or us."

Machvise patted Law's head clumsily. His strange beaver-like tail thumped in the air.

"Did something sad happen to you too?" he asked, voice gentle, "Don't worry, little Law. You're part of our family now. The Young Master protects everyone in the family."

 _You're not my fucking family_. Law almost snarled, letting the words tear out from the seething, screaming pit in his heart.

He just barely caught himself in time, sealing them back inside, next to the glowing images of his parents and sister, next to Flevance when the summer light cascaded down.

All memories charred and gone.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The White City had been pristine and crystalline. A place of milk and honey. Fairytale houses. Paradise skies. Snowy treasure glittering in the bellies of the mountains.

All now to bones and rubble.

Doflamingo shut the book. He took a swig of wine.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

The Donquixote Family seemed involved in every crime under the sun. As a rookie, Law was sent out to shadow other members right away. There were hostages to be ransomed, blackmail to be arranged, areas ripe for violent takeovers to begin.

They didn't kill indiscriminately, but they killed plenty enough. Baby Five made a special detergent just to wash out bloodstains. She and Buffalo whispered after every fight, naming which ones cried in the end and which ones begged and which ones did both and pissed themselves too. Law tuned them out, staring sightlessly as he lay in his bunk.

He didn't know why they felt the need to fixate and he didn't care. He cared little for anything.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(They lingered on the islands surrounding Spider Miles for the rest of the week. Rosi had yet to return from a planned hit and Doflamingo was starting to get antsy. There was a nagging voice in him that had been going on and on, unable to sort through whether it was concerned, possessive or suspicious.

Eventually, he grew bored of its tone and shunted it aside altogether. The things it whispered of were inconceivable.

Doflamingo cracked his neck with a sigh, feeling cool water and sand rush along his ankles as he trailed the shoreline, hands in pockets.

Times like this, he really wished Vergo were here. The man could make almost any conversation entertaining. Not to mention local women just weren't as fun to fuck. Perhaps they could give the phone sex idea another try after all…?

"Young Master!"

He dropped the thought like a hot plate as Baby Five came charging over a dune, a huge jar held over her head.

"Look at all the shells we found, Young Master!" she chirped, skidding to a halt in front of him. She strained upwards as far as she could, which wasn't even to his waist and he snorted, kneeling down so they were somewhat eye-level.

"Show me what you got."

Baby Five giggled and pointed at the glass, turning the jar different directions as she gushed. "See the red one there? Jora found that one. And Buffalo found this weird stripy one here and I found this one with the spikes that kind of looks like Pica-san."

Doflamingo blinked at some of the collection. He was pretty sure a couple of the shells were still occupied, but didn't comment. It'd be a fun surprise for Jora.

"Oh, there you are, Baby Five! I told you not to bother him! The Young Master needs some peace." As if summoned, Jora appeared over the dune with hands on hips and Buffalo at her side. Doflamingo grinned and waved her off before Baby Five could start panicking.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," he said and ruffled Baby Five's hair, before he saw Law of all people trailing in after them, eyes hooded and stony-faced, "Fufu, well I'm a little surprised. So you've decided to enjoy the beach after all, Law?"

The boy scowled, crossing his arms, and Baby Five launched into an instant tirade about how Law hadn't wanted to move from the ship at all and how she'd had to drag him off and then how he'd done nothing but glare at her ever since. Another of Law's said glares cut her off abruptly and sent her fleeing to Buffalo.

Jora sighed and took her hand. "Come. Let's not keep troubling the Young Master. There must be more shells down near the tide pools." She led an instantly delighted Baby Five away, Buffalo following close behind.

Doflamingo watched them go with half a smile, before glancing at the dark, huddled shape that hadn't budged from his side.

"Not going with them?"

Law scowled harder and moved a deliberate distance away, sitting down in the sand with his legs drawn up. He glared at the sunset with such intensity Doflamingo wondered if he was trying to make it combust.

"They're just shells. What am I supposed to do with them besides set them down somewhere to collect dust? It's worthless crap."

Doflamingo's lips twitched. He was rather entertained by Law's bluntness, especially when paired with such a unique brand of hollow-eyed cynicism. He really wouldn't have bothered correcting him at all, if it weren't for his own dislike of broad assumptions.

"Not necessarily."

Doflamingo kicked up some water as scarlet waves came frothing in again. It sapped some of his strength but his smile widened when he caught Law glance over from the corner of his eye. He rolled his shoulders, leaning towards the waning sun.

"I'm sure you've heard of the Sky Island, right Law? Being the well-educated brat that you are." Confusion flickered in Law's eyes. He hesitated a beat, before shaking his head.

Doflamingo pretended ignorance and after another moment, Law's low, slightly flat voice spoke, "What is it?"

"Hm?"

"The Sky Island."

"What about it?"

"That's my question! What the hell is it? What does it have to do with fucking shells?"

"Language, Law. We're pirates, not savages."

Well, Doflamingo was of the opinion that they were one and the same, but it was fascinating watching Law's face turn puce with anger. There was quite a bit of life in it yet and Doflamingo also found this equally amusing.

"If you really want to know, then come closer. I'm not going to shout at you from way over here."

Law made an irritated noise, but he barely spared a minute before standing again and shuffling nearer. He halted just within talking range and crossed his arms.

"There. Are you going to tell me or not?"

He really was curious. Doflamingo chuckled, and his mirth was slightly less black than before.

"Alright then…"

So he told Law about the ancient civilization that supposedly existed above the clouds of Paradise. How it floated on a different sea composed out of pure white clouds. How this sea had its own fare of monsters and treachery, but no real waves or methods to propel a ship forward for travel.

"That's where the shells came in." Doflamingo gestured down the coast, toward where Baby Five and Buffalo were peering over the rocks. "The Sky people started picking up ones that were washed ashore, crafting them into these special devices known as 'dials.' They're basically like improvised motors, or so the theory goes."

"Shells for motors?"

"That's right."

Law was turned fully towards him now. "How does that work?"

There was nothing written on the subject so Doflamingo shared his own opinion that the shells likely possessed some sort of storage mechanism for absorbing matter. Then Law wanted to know if the dials could be used for other purposes and what other evidence there was that the Sky Island existed at all.

By the end, Law was barely three feet away, kneeled in the sand and trying to draw out for him what he imagined a map of a sky island to look like.

"And these would be the bridges," he said, nudging Doflamingo's coat aside to point at the center of his drawing, "Because they'd need a transportation system if it's a bunch of interconnected islands. It'd be made of clouds."

"Hm, I see," Doflamingo stooped down, careful not to disturb the child's picture, "White bridges to white towns, huh?"

The air went thick and still.

Law stiffened as if he'd just been kicked in the stomach and Doflamingo watched his tiny hands drag grooves in the sand and form into fists. Doflamingo supposed he could've played off his words then as an accidental slip of the tongue, but they hadn't been. He was curious about the kid's situation and reading could only take him so far. There was a cruel part of him that wanted to taunt Law and ask if he thought the Sky Island would burn and crumble one day just as Flevance had, but he restrained himself.

Their talk had been enjoyable and Doflamingo was no longer bored. On the basis of that alone, he felt the boy had earned a bit of delicacy from him.

"How did you escape, Law?" he asked instead, head tilted, chin resting on a palm, "Are there any other survivors from the city?"

The answer was more abrupt than expected.

"I don't know. I made it out of the gates by hiding in a wagon of corpses."

The ocean seemed insistently loud after that, echoing, waves crashing and receding, soaking the sand and their feet in a darkening horizon. Seawater spilled across the map, flooding the houses and wrecking the bridges. Sand slurped and mounded and within seconds, Sky Island had been swallowed whole.

Law stared at the empty spot, face devoid of expression. Doflamingo stared at Law. His chest stung a little and he felt it at a distance as he always had. He did not pity Law, because he pitied no one.

But he thought he might've understood then—the bottomless despair of those eyes.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Hey, brat…"

Doflamingo stood, graceful and silent, tall beyond words. There was a flicker, Law thought, of his real eyes in the creeping twilight.

"…how about I get you some books?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Law read with a ravenous hunger. Doflamingo had never met anyone who could outpace himself, but the boy was already finishing up to two books per day and his appearance at Doflamingo's door was starting to become routine.

"Fufu, I feel kind of like a librarian," he said, handing over two more titles from his shelf, while sliding back the ones Law had returned.

"Ugh," the brat's nose wrinkled, "Don't put weird images in my head." He still received the new books eagerly though, flipping through some of the pages with fervor before suddenly pausing and giving Doflamingo an odd look.

"What?"

"Nothing, just…you have a lot of stuff on Mariejois."

The quill nearly snapped in Doflamingo's hand. He grinned on reflex.

"…Well, you should always educate yourself on what you hate, Law."

An owlish blink.

"You've got a problem with the Celestial Dragons?"

"Oh, I've got quite a few."

Hesitation clouded Law's features. Doflamingo could almost see the thoughts churning beneath that spiky black hair. It occurred to him the boy might be equally curious of someone who despised the World Government as much as he did.

Yet even before the question was asked, Law was already cradling the books close to his chest, as if afraid they would be demanded back.

"…What happened?"

Doflamingo sat down again, fingers tapping on a near empty wine bottle.

"Heh, maybe someday I'll tell you. 's not a story fit for kiddies."

Complete bullshit, considering the things Law had already been through, but Doflamingo wasn't in the mood. As expected, the boy did give him a nasty look, but the offense bled quickly and strangely out of his face. What remained was too calm and deliberate. It studied him and reminded him of Rosi, and if there was anything that could make him feel ill at ease, it was that.

"Fine, whatever," Law mumbled eventually, "And by the way, you should give it a rest with the drinking. That's like your third bottle today. Your liver's probably a wreck."

He stormed out before Doflamingo could even process what he'd said.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

For an agent of chaos, Doflamingo's organization was a well-oiled machine. Over five hundred men had been divided into miniature armies, with each group having its own officers and executive.

In general, Diamante, Trebol and Pica seemed more involved with the daily hum and bustle of activity than Doflamingo. It wasn't rare to come upon their leering hides in the lounge or barking orders on deck. More than anything, Law hated bumping into them. The cartoonish limbs and disproportioned bodies gave off to him an alien appearance. From some angles, they barely looked human.

"Oh, Law, just wait until you meet Cora-san!" Baby Five said, when he muttered this, half to himself, "He should be back from his mission tomorrow and he's _way_ better-looking than Trebol-san or Diamante-san."

"What was that, brat?" Diamante snapped from where he and Trebol sat on the couch, somehow hearing them from across the room, "If you've got so much free time to chat, how about you get me a drink?"

Baby Five lit up like a shooting star. She winked at Law, before skipping out with her serving tray in hand. Law's brows furrowed. He turned to Senor Pink, who was hunched at a desk a few feet away, feverishly texting his wife.

"Who the hell is Cora-san?"

"Ah, that's just some silly nickname the other kids have for him. It's actually Corazón. The Heart executive. Doffy's younger brother too." Law felt his eyes widening. Doflamingo had never mentioned a brother and he'd already been here for weeks.

"Oh."

"Behehe, you're going to just _love_ Corazón, Law."

The couch groaned as Trebol stood, having been silent up till then. Law glared up at him as he oozed across the room, getting closer than necessary.

"…What are you talking about?"

"Well, for one thing, he's a clumsy, air-headed oaf that's going to trip over you or spill something on you almost every day, " Diamante chortled from his seat and Trebol's grin spread, "And for another, he isn't a huge fan of brats, so he'll probably try talking Doffy into dumping you somewhere first chance he gets."

"Maybe just off the side of the boat," Diamante added, and he and Trebol keeled over with laughter. Law was no longer listening.

Ice had filled his heart and was drilling sideways into his veins. The thought of vengeance was all that had managed to sustain him for this long. He'd gathered up every fragment of himself that was still worth a damn and poured them into that dream of aimless destruction—a rage that was boundless, unstoppable and without judgment. Only Doflamingo would be able to give him that.

And this Corazón was going to force him away? Law's knuckles went pale around his book. He felt suddenly sick with rage. No _nono_ _ **no**_ , _he wouldn't let him, wouldn't_ _ **let him**_ …

A few feet away, Senor Pink sighed, setting down his Den Den Mushi.

"You know, Law," he said, "Kids shouldn't believe everything adults tell them. Especially when they're a buncha clowns like these guys."

"Huuuh, wanna repeat that, Pink?"

"You've gotten pretty cocky over the years, haven't you, Pink? Behehehe! Ever since Doffy let you have your sweet ever after…"

Senor Pink ignored the bait with the same indifference he would grace a buzzing fly. "Think it through, kid," he said with one final glance Law's way, before turning back to the desk.

What did Senor Pink know though? He was a man who could afford to let things slide. Somewhere, far from here, he had a wife waiting at home, all lace and apple pies. He had a baby in the works who would love and cherish him. He had these pretty pearls to think about, to remind himself that a fight wasn't worth the price. These were the thoughts of a man who had something to lose.

But Law was a boy, not a man.

And he had nothing left to lose at all.

Not a thing.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("I'm calling to check if you're dead."

A static-filled sigh. "I'm fine, Doffy. Sorry for the delay."

"Did you get it done?"

"Yes, the group's taken care of. I searched their warehouse too, but it looks like they stopped carrying Mariejois cargo months ago."

"Have they now? Interesting."

"…it's not healthy to obsess like this, Doffy."

"Fufu, he said the same thing in so many words."

"Who?"

"You'll see. How long before you get back?"

"Should be there by tonight actually."

"Good. We'll be waiting at Spider Miles.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

Corazón returned early.

Law crouched at the base of one of Spider Miles' many rusting, heaving junk piles. The moon was bright and full, clearer than a bell, pooling light down on him as he scrounged for loose bolts and spare tacks in the debris.

He only received about a second's notice when the giant shadow swallowed him and a hand was on his shoulder. Hard and wide as a slab of stone.

Law was yanked around to cigarette smoke—to yellow hair and giant limbs and he mistook him for Doflamingo for several long beats, before he registered the black feathers.

"What are you doing here?" Corazón demanded, as if he had any idea who Law was, "What are you doing here, boy? Don't you know where this is?"

Law said nothing, all the words robbed from him. Corazón's form stretched across his vision. He had a loose maroon hood with long heart-shaped flaps and a shirt adorned with a similar pattern. The recognition sunk in like a knife.

Law couldn't really describe what happened to him then. Only that a myriad of thoughts grew clustered and tangled in his head. Like how this was Doflamingo's brother, who was going to try and get rid of him. Like how he couldn't let that happen. Like how _fucking stupid_ Corazón looked, as if he'd gotten dressed blind and what kind of _fucking world_ was this that someone who looked as _fucking stupid_ as Corazón would get to survive when every single person Law had ever loved or cared about had died horribly?

Fury writhed in his head. It leeched the blood out of the rest of his body and tinged his vision with frost. The shiv was in his hand before he realized it. The one carved out of a toothbrush. The one that Doflamingo, for whatever obscure reason, had decided to let him keep.

The world emptied of everything, _everything_ but the man in front of him.

And Corazón said, "You shouldn't be here."

Law gripped the blade and charged.


	9. law: roseus et ater

_**law: roseus et ater**_

* * *

 _There are certain things from back then that I'll never forget. The crinkle of newspaper. The thud of books. Feathers. Pink and black and pink and black._

 _Brimming ashtrays and broken bottles and smiles which never touched the eyes._

 _And that night. The first one._

 _I'll never forget that either._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Law saw the next few moments in flashes. One after the other like the weathered pages of an ancient book.

The edge of the shiv and the clink of screws beneath his feet. Corazón's body heaving forward as if a tree set to timber. Hot blood trickling down his wrists.

Corazón's red, red eyes were on him, the pupils shrunken and jaw clenched, a spark of pain within their centers that encased Law's hatred in impregnable ice. He was beyond the ire of possibly being left behind.

At that moment, Law blamed this man for every shred of agony he had ever known. This man whom he's only seen in the moonlight, whom he hasn't even said a word to yet. It's irrational and ugly and senseless, but so was gunning down schoolchildren and torching hospitals. So was reducing entire cities to embers over something as selfish as fear—as vile and empty _EMPTY_ as a lie.

It had all still happened, hadn't it?

Corazón gasped faintly. He made almost no sound.

"You… _what_ —"

Law wrenched the blade out, skidding back a few feet. Corazón's hand flattened against the seeping wound as he fell to a knee. Law's heart was ready to punch out of his chest. He felt weightless and dizzy. He knew nothing but fury.

At least until he heard that shout from behind him. Until he turned and saw Buffalo's eyes glance across the blood spreading from Corazón's side.

Then Law knew reality and the cold, cold weight of what he had just done.

" _YOUNG MASTEEEERRRR!_ "

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Rosinante had no idea what was happening.

He'd managed to carry out an entire hit for Doffy, a secret rendezvous with Sengoku and a journey back to Spider Miles, all without incident. He smoked through a whole pack of cigarettes while preserving his coat. He hadn't even tripped today. Not even once.

Everything had gone so smoothly it'd been unnerving. He supposed it only meant the other shoe would drop soon enough.

And so it had and here he was.

Suddenly bleeding out in a junkyard. Suddenly stabbed through the torso by a…was it a toothbrush?

Again, Rosinante had no idea what was happening.

The only thing he could be certain of, however, was that he wasn't planning to watch his own brother murder a child before his eyes.

" _YOUNG MASTEEEERRRR!_ "

Buffalo's voice carried into the distance like a siren, shattering the night's stillness. It was any youth's voice, high-pitched and young, on the edge of breaking for puberty. Yet it made all the hairs prickle down Rosinante's arms and legs. He turned to the nameless boy.

"Give me the knife," he said.

No reaction. He was white as paper and frozen where he stood. Rosinante cursed, leaned forward and snatched it out of the child's hand himself. In one deft beat, he threw it onto the ground and smashed it with his foot.

"Don't speak," he warned and that was about all he had time for, before he felt more than heard his brother approaching.

" _Rosi?_ "

Sometimes, Doffy moved without a sound. Rosinante had no idea how he did that, considering how enormous he was, but it never stopped being frightening and this time was no exception. One second his brother wasn't here yet and the next he very much was.

Doffy's shadow engulfed the moon, the stars, the _world._ He was not smiling. Rosinante felt his wrath in the seething quiet, plunging down from above like a second layer of gravity.

"I'm alright," he hurried to soothe, "It's fine, Doffy. Just looks worse than it is. I'm alright, it's nothing."

His brother didn't reply. He stared at Rosinante for what felt like forever, before stalking towards him. Rosinante could see his own gruesome injury reflected in his shades.

Doffy's hand rested on his shoulder, curling like a talon. Nails dug into Rosinante's skin, but he couldn't feel them. He couldn't even feel the stab wound, so fast was the adrenaline chugging through his veins. Softly, he grinded his sole further into the remains of the knife, which had thankfully fallen on Doffy's blind side.

"Law," his brother said and the child went rigid as a board. Rosinante's thoughts scrambled over each other. The boy's name. It had to be.

 _Law._

Doffy turned and Rosinante was ready to grab the arm closest to him, a slew of half-constructed words on his lips _(no, no, Doffy, let him go, leave him alone, please, please have you really no mercy in your soul—)_

His brother's voice was hushed. "What happened here?")

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The wound was fresh. He could tell by the stain on Rosi's shirt, how the shade was still a rich and vivid crimson. The blood scent was heavy and new, but it sent the past rushing at Doflamingo like a nightmare. Someone had touched his little brother again.

It was a _**shame**_ Buffalo had not seen what happened. He'd been barely coherent with what he _had_ seen.

For that matter, Law couldn't seem to speak either. The rings beneath his eyes were even darker under the moon. His lips were chapped and colorless. Doflamingo supposed, at the crux of things, he was still only a child.

Tiny.

Helpless.

 _Wasting his time._

"You need to speak, boy," he said, soft as a hiss, "I know this can't be your fault, can it?"

Rosi stiffened beneath him and Law finally met his eyes. There was a tuft of black hair loose from his hat, pressed against the bridge of his nose. He was very afraid. Doflamingo could almost smell it, but his mind did not spiral towards anger just yet.

Rosi hadn't even met the child up until now. There was no reason to suspect him.

 _Even though…_

He regarded Law's fists. Small, bony things barely the size of pebbles. They were curled tight and hanging stiff at his sides. It was because the boy did not hide them. Because he hadn't even seemed to notice them, that Doflamingo bothered to ask.

"…Your hands are covered in blood, Law. Just whose could that be?")

* * *

xxx

* * *

"It's mine, Doffy."

Law had only just started to process Doflamingo's question when Corazón answered for him. Blazing red eyes flicked to his own as Corazón reached up to hold Doflamingo by the wrist.

"…Law, was it? He was trying to slow the bleeding. I got attacked a few minutes before I landed on Spider Miles. One of the sailors on the ship I hitched a ride with wanted to turn pirate. Thought he could make an easy name by killing me. I only ran into this kid when I made it to base."

Instantly, Doflamingo wasn't looking at Law anymore. A slow, horrible smile cracked across his face as he regarded his brother.

"Oh, is that how it went? And where is this sailor now?"

"In the ground." Corazón didn't even blink. The brothers stared at each other and for a second, Law felt utterly insignificant and forgotten, as if a single rock dwarfed by mountains. He didn't understand, _couldn't_ understand, why Corazón was covering for him.

But eventually and by degrees, Doflamingo's frame began to relax. The tension cooled and receded like the last flames of a dying fire. His smile disappeared and when he did speak again, his voice sounded almost normal. Almost like something Law could recognize.

"You should've just gotten treated. You didn't have to come all the way back here first."

"Well, you were getting impatient."

Doflamingo said nothing. The hand on Corazón's shoulder shifted down, fingers grazing the edge of the bloodstain. Doflamingo's expression didn't change, as smooth and distant as a mask, but the steely look in Corazón's eyes softened.

"I'm okay, alright? Really. Can we please just go? I need to dress this thing."

He nudged his brother back slightly and stood, still clutching the wound. There was another bout of silence, before Doflamingo finally nodded.

"Fine."

Corazón's relief was almost palpable. He limped past them both and headed towards the ship. He did not look at Law again.

Doflamingo turned as well, his huge coat sweeping and unsettling the dust.

"Come," he said simply, "You were studying to be a doctor, weren't you? Go check him over."

As if on the command alone, Law's legs jerked back into motion. He staggered once and almost tripped over a bundle of pipes, before trotting after them, trying to hide the shaking in his limbs.

He didn't waste his energy wondering how Doflamingo knew about his studies. In the way of a child, he would simply come to assume Doflamingo knew everything. That there were no secrets you could hide from him. That he had no blind spot to be taken advantage of.

None, he would realize, except one.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _It was so ungodly quiet on board that night. Sometimes even now, I can hear the sea sloshing against that phantom hull. The tap of Doflamingo's footsteps on hollow floor._

 _And Cora-san, half in front of me, watching him vanish into the dark. It was how things invariably were with them—the silences, the constant watching. There were never any words._

 _One of them was always walking away._

* * *

xxx

* * *

("You'll need stitches."

The boy…Law deposited a kit on the flat metal table of the ship's sickbay. Rosinante cringed as a stool was dragged, screeching, from across the room. Law's hands moved with precision, unpacking swabs and spool and gauze, threading a needle with one gloved hand.

"Let me see," he said, and peeled Rosinante's shirt back without preamble.

The pain was beginning to surface in spurts and pinpricks. The blade had sunk in deeper than he'd thought—far deeper than such a scrawny arm should've been capable of—and the blood had taken longer than usual to clot.

Rosinante's breath stuttered as Law flushed the gash with saline, washing out the hotbed of dirt and bacteria.

"It's okay," Law murmured, perhaps automatically and Rosinante blinked. It felt surreal, being stabbed by the same child that was now packing his wound and offering him comfort. He still hadn't figured out what he'd done to warrant such an insane reaction in the first place.

But the questions could hold for now. Doffy's anger, no matter if concealed or averted, was not easy to forget and the kid had gone incredibly pale, as if he'd drained far more out of himself with the attack than Rosinante. It was kind of amazing he could even keep his hands steady as he sewed up the gash.

"The sutures can be taken out in about two weeks," he said, snipping the thread and applying antibiotic cream, "Make sure to change the bandages at least once a day."

He barely waited for Rosinante to nod, before clambering off the stool with the gauze. It was only after he'd turned back around again that he suddenly hesitated.

Rosinante's brow rose at the flash of awkward reluctance across Law's face. He had to take a minute to glance down at himself, before he realized the problem.

Then it was all he could do not to snort.

The wound was such that his entire torso needed wrapping, but given the size difference, Law would probably have to run circles around him just to reach the whole way. Awkward indeed.

"Give it here. I can do the rest on my own."

The skeptical look was uncalled for in his opinion, but Law handed the materials over easily enough. Rosinante thought he would've left him alone after that, but the kid remained where he was. He watched Rosinante work, gaze unflinching, almost glaring.

Three or four minutes passed before he suddenly asked, "Why did you help me?"

"Why did you stab me?"

Another pause. Rosinante rolled the bandages across his back.

"…I couldn't risk letting you convince Doflamingo."

"Of what?"

"Throwing me overboard."

Law's voice was without inflection. Rosinante glanced at him, eyes slightly wide.

"Why would I—"

"Because I'm a kid," the stillness in Law's face rippled for a faint second with accusation, "And you're his brother. He would've listened to you."

Rosinante nearly laughed. Doffy listening to him…he wasn't sure Doffy could _hear_ him sometimes, let alone listen. He looked away.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. He does what he wants. He always has."

Not true. Not entirely true. Not even fair. Doffy had managed to see beyond himself before. Food for their mother. A body shielding his own. Desperate, childish requests on sixth birthdays granted for no reason other than Rosinante asking it of him.

But these were only a handful of memories, growing older and more brittle by the year. He had to cling to them, huddling close as if they could keep him warm at night.

Soft of him, as his brother would've said. Weak.

"So you won't try to force me out then?"

Rosinante sighed, gaze drifting back to Law. "…Why are you here, brat?"

"Because I asked to be."

"This isn't a game. If you want something like adventure or glory…"

"I didn't come for games."

The face was akin to a doll's, bone-white skin smeared with blood and dark grease. He could've blinked and saw Doffy at ten years old—the spitting image of his eyes. Those vacant windows of cut-glass, orange-tinted with flames.

Rosinante stiffened. He let Law believe it was because he cinched the bandages too tightly. With slightly fumbling hands, he finished knotting the ends, flexing a bit to make sure they held. Law offered his shirt without a word. It was like a quilt in his hand.

He really was so small. Rosinante felt his stomach dip.

He shrugged the shirt on with a stiff nod, forgoing the buttons to throw the black-feathered coat over his shoulders. All of a sudden, the room was stifling and full of ghosts. He needed to get out of here.

Too bad that was about when his strange luck with balance ran out for the day. He wasn't even sure what he'd tripped over, but suddenly the floor was slamming into his back, leaving him breathless and head spinning. A hissed curse was heard as one of his legs flailed into the stool, knocking it down with a crash.

Law's fuming, scowling features came into view. The eyes had some color in them again, even if mostly irritation and disbelief. Rosinante vaguely thought he preferred it. He would've preferred anything to the barren deadness of before.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" A small hand was on his chest, lifting his shirt again. "You'd better not have ripped something out already."

Rosinante groaned, lying there as the boy checked him over again. The stitches must've held, since there was no more cursing. Only a hard, angry sigh.

"I don't know if you're one of those weird pirates with a moral code," Law muttered, "But don't waste your energy. I'm not going to be here for long. Two…maybe three years at most."

Did he think it so easy? Rosinante shook his head. "If you're assuming you can leave the Family whenever you'd like—"

"I'll be dead."

The tone was cold and dull, as if its words held no consequence. Rosinante sat up. Law wasn't looking at him anymore though. His eyes stared through the porthole, at the winking river of stars beyond.

"It's not too obvious yet, so I haven't bothered telling anyone. Not even Doflamingo. Though he's probably guessed by now."

"You're not making any sense."

Law shrugged. Near imperceptibly, his head lowered. Rosinante, who was only too used to reading the subtlest of signs, noticed anyway.

"It's called Amber Lead Syndrome. Contracted from a mineral deep underground. Doesn't have a cure and never will. It'll kill me in time and then I'll be gone." The boy slid his hands into his pockets. "So you don't have to concern yourself with me. None of this has to mean anything."

Rosinante wasn't sure he was hearing correctly. "Wait, what? If you're sick then—"

"No."

"But—"

"Doesn't matter."

Rosinante stared. His face softened. "…Yes it does, kid."

"No, it really doesn't!" Law snapped, a sudden naked rage in his voice, "I'm not looking for your pity. I'm not asking for your help. I'm here _because_ Doflamingo won't give me any of that shit. Because he doesn't care and neither should you. So just leave me alone."

And then he stormed from the sickbay without waiting for a reply. Fists bunched and footsteps padding down the corridor.

It was just as well. Rosinante hadn't known what to say.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Some of the most futile words I've ever spent were on telling Cora-san not to care._

 _Because naturally he wouldn't have listened. Because by then he'd already made up his mind and was stubborn as hell if he wanted to be. Because he was_ Cora-san _and of course he was going to care._

 _Of course he was._

 _It simply wasn't in his nature not to, even if it'd been the smarter way to go. Even if he'd been better off for it. That was one thing I believe Doflamingo and I could've agreed._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Midnight was creeping in when Rosi joined him on deck. Doflamingo slunk from the rail, briskly making his way over.

"Are you alright?" he asked and inspected his brother, fingers itching to touch him and reassure himself. He'd been accosted with unsavory visits from the past since they'd set sail and already knew sleep wouldn't find him tonight.

"Yeah," Rosi squeezed his shoulder, glancing at the bottle in his hand, "How many have you had?"

Doflamingo shrugged. His tolerance was through the roof and he hadn't bothered counting. "What ship did you hitch a ride with?"

A sharp beat.

"I told you I already finished him."

"The ship hired him. Brought him on as crew. Let him walk near you, eat near you, sleep near you." Doflamingo's lips parted, many teeth glinting as wayward veins began to pulse. " _Foolish_ of them. A proper example must be made."

The words made perfect sense to him then, through the rank fog of drink and bloodlust and vile memories. He didn't care if Rosi didn't tell him. He'd just find out for himself eventually.

"You'll risk the Marines on your ass again for something like an example?" Rosi said with half a sigh. The hand on his shoulder shifted, fingers rubbing gentle circles against the tense muscle in Doflamingo's back. "I can take care of myself, Doffy."

There was an assuaging note to Rosi's voice. The knot in Doflamingo's brow loosened ever so slightly.

"I know," he said, "You've changed so much. You're all grown up now. I _am_ proud of you."

The touch ceased, almost flinching for a beat before returning. Doflamingo hoped his brother knew that he meant it then. He meant it as much as he could mean anything. Rosi's face was blank though, maybe determinedly so.

"…Then let this go, okay? The one responsible is gone. He won't hurt me again. Don't think about this anymore. Trust me."

Doflamingo was silent. Rosi stared into his eyes.

"Doffy, do you trust me?"

It took him a second, just one _(but it was long and endless and he didn't know why it happened)_ , before he nodded.

His brother smiled a little. Doflamingo barely noticed when Rosi slipped the wine bottle out of his grasp or steered them over to sit on a bench. A thumb brushed across the ridge of his spine, steadfast and firm. They sat there for a while, the two of them, and Doflamingo saw the shadows shrivel and crumble in his vision, as if banished.

Rosi tucked his legs up, crossing them.

"You really scared that kid."

For anyone else, the statement would've come out of nowhere. Doflamingo's mouth only twitched.

"I'm sure he's seen worse."

"…There's something about him. His eyes. What on earth happened to him, Doffy?"

The veiled shudder beneath Rosi's words was threadbare. He could be so transparent with his concern. Doflamingo didn't mock him though. That was just the type of person his brother was. How he'd always been.

"He was born in the White City," Doflamingo said, repeating Law's own words. It was all the answer he had needed then and it's the only one Rosi needed now. Pale realization dawned on his face.

"He told me he was dying. That he only had three years left."

Doflamingo blinked slowly.

"Longer than I thought."

"So you knew."

It wasn't a question. Rosi didn't sound angry or reproachful, just slightly resigned. Perhaps it was the odd mood Doflamingo was in, but he felt the need to explain.

"They exterminated the entire city because of Amber Lead. How couldn't I?"

His brother shook his head. "It's not that. Just…all those people, killed for something they couldn't even help. Condemned for a few words. God, it's horrible."

God, was it? Doflamingo turned to the sea. God had nothing to do with it. This much he knew. They had been gods too and what had they known then about horror or pain?

"Yes," he said, "Horrible."

He could feel Rosi's surprised gaze on him. They had never agreed about much.

"You'll save him, right Doffy?" his brother ventured after a moment, "Isn't there some way to save him?"

Maybe on any other day, Doflamingo would've laughed. Save him? Why was he obligated to save this miserable child when he was all but dead already? When Law didn't want it or need it and had such a _respectable_ dream to pursue? How pointless. No one had saved _them_ all those years ago, no one had saved _him_ —

But Doflamingo was feeling weirdly sentimental tonight. At least as much as was possible. And he did enjoy Law, the sad little thing. So much potential. It would be…a waste if he died.

A true waste.

Doflamingo settled on that word and felt it seep and sink into his marrow. He would never, ever get any further than that word either, no matter if he'd wanted to.

And no matter if he'd tried.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _God, why do I recall the things I do about those years? I really couldn't tell you._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo had known about the disease after all.

The whole damn crew had known after his rather blunt announcement at dinner the following night.

Jora leapt out of her chair, spilling her soup on Gladius, already squawking about contagion. She had Buffalo screaming too, flattening himself against the wall, while Baby Five's startled gaze swung to Law with such fearful question that he turned away on instinct.

Senor Pink kept eating. Lao G kept eating. Corazón kept eating in the way that was deliberately _not_ meeting Law's gaze. No one shut up until Doflamingo finally slammed a fist against the table and made them all jump a mile high.

They sat in silence through his lecture to Jora on spreading misinformation and to Buffalo on how to treat family. When he finally did look at Law again, it was simply to ask if he was feeling lucky.

"What?"

"You're beyond medical help," he said plainly, "However, our group does specialize in black market trade. Devil Fruits with peculiar abilities pass through our hands all the time. There may be one in the next three years that has the power to heal you."

Law barely blinked. He felt no hope. He'd essentially forgotten how.

"No, there can't be. It doesn't have a cure."

Doflamingo chuckled, waving aside Diamante and Trebol when they both tried to start yelling.

"Heh, don't be so bleak. Fate is a fickle thing. As I'm sure you're quite aware by now."

Nails dug into Law's palms. A breath of fierce wonder was trying to come to life in his belly and it terrified him. He didn't notice Corazón put down his bowl. Didn't notice him staring.

"Y…You still shouldn't bother. I can't be saved."

"And what if you're wrong?"

"What if _you_ are?" Law snapped and hated himself for how childish he sounded, for how his voice cracked at the end. His insolence was leveling plenty of death glares his way from the table, but he didn't care. They may as well have not been there at all. "What if _you're_ wrong?"

Doflamingo merely smiled. It was the closest thing to remorse Law would ever see.

"Then at least you'll have a good time."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _It had been loud on the Donquixote ship, people hurrying every which way, raucous laughter, lists of chores with no end. You learned your way. You got along however you could. It really was, in some respects, like a family._

 _I was…a little happy then. A little like I belonged. I think it's important to remember that._

 _Despite how much it fucking hurts me now. Despite the way things ended._


	10. donquixote familia

**donquixote familia - "the donquixote family"**

* * *

They were but two years.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Mariejois had been eternal sun and sweeping blue skies. It knew nothing of rain._

 _Rosinante marveled endlessly at the weight of it in his hair, the kiss of it on his face, how it seeped through his clothes and skin and between his toes. Doflamingo was of a blacker opinion—a chasm carved from skinned knees and sunken earth and desperate flights through the soggy dark._

" _Oh, but it can be lovely too, darling," their mother said, "So many things are."_

 _She picked up Rosinante, toweled him dry with the rag of her dress, held him at her hip where he could press his cheek into the beat of her heart and clench fingers around her sleeve. Doflamingo watched her lean against the dirty, window-less sill. He watched her smile out at the wet and weeping world._

" _You need only give them the chance to be."_

 _Her hand, soft and white, stretched towards the sky._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The first spring brought the rain.

The warehouse's tin awning drummed over their heads, a million silver fingertips dancing to the same staccato beat. Rosinante blew smoke into the pallid world, a warm dry cloud amongst the downpour, so cold and clean this year. Baby Five muffled a sneeze and burrowed further under Doffy's coat, looking to sap heat from his side. Her eyes were large though, black pearls shining in the dark.

"Oh, isn't it beautiful, Young Master?" she said, "Isn't it lovely?"

Rosinante dropped the glowing stub of his cigarette, grinding it beneath his heel. Without intention, he caught Law's eye as the child sat against the wall, silent, still dripping and defiant purple lips. Rosinante sighed, squatting down.

"C'mere, kid," he said, "It's okay."

Law's scowl was chilled and flat. He hadn't stopped being annoyed at Rosinante for his pity. For not letting things lie.

It was the rain that made him cave in the end. Rosinante wrapped the frail, shivering little body in his coat, held the boy tight to his beating heart. If he felt a tiny hand curl hesitantly into his sleeve, he said nothing.

And a few feet away, his brother stretched his hand towards the sky, let the droplets patter and roll off his skin.

"Yes," he said, faintly, as if he couldn't remember the reason, "lovely.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Doflamingo had been a precocious child. He devoured books, breezed through lessons, possessed a distinct and unstoppable practicality in problem–solving. The breadth of resources in Mariejois, the finest tutors and most expensive materials, had only fed his cleverness._

 _Rosinante, who had learned only half his letters and basic arithmetic before they'd settled on the coast of the North Blue, was not so fortunate._

 _So when their mother grew ill that summer and their father was busy caring for her, it was Doflamingo who became his brother's first teacher. He was more patient than usual then, guiding his brother's hand as they traced letters together with a lump of coal, inventing games to keep Rosinante engaged in mathematics._

" _Come on, just one more set."_

" _But I want to go outside. Can't I do this tomorrow?"_

" _Right, and then tomorrow will become tomorrow, which will also become tomorrow. Do you think I want to play teacher forever, Rosi?"_

 _And there was much rolling of the eyes and reprimanding noogies to the head that solicited more giggles than contrition. In those days, those earliest and warmest ones, Rosinante leaned back against his older brother's chest, grinned up with cheek into exasperated eyes._

" _Who else are you gonna have to talk at?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Can you tell this kid to go outside for once?" Corazón jabbed a finger in Law's scowling direction, "It's depressing to watch."

Doflamingo's brow lifted. He trailed his gaze over the child, half-buried under a mountain of books.

"You do look a fright," he said, with a hint of judgment, "Would a little sun kill you, brat?"

Law's mouth was a stubborn, annoyed line. "You're both idiots. Go away."

"Why are you asking him? He doesn't know what he needs," Corazón gestured at the books, "His mind's all filled up with stuff like how to blast animals out of cannons or the history of piracy or…whatever this crystal orb thing is—"

"A log pose."

"Huh?"

Doflamingo pointed at the cover of "Intro to Navigation" which Corazón was waving around. The younger Donquixote brought it up to his face, staring at it blankly.

"…Oh, is that what it's called?"

"Do you not know what a log pose is?"

"Uh…"

"Tell me what a log pose is."

Three minutes of interrogation later, Doflamingo abruptly sat down and told his brother to get comfortable. Three more minutes later and he was lecturing a bewildered Corazón on the necessity of understanding basic navigation, since they sailed the Grand Line so frequently and he'd been at sea for almost two years now and why do you still not know this shit, Rosi?

They didn't even notice when Law nonchalantly rose from the couch and departed, a book tucked under his arm.

"Giving up so soon?" Senor Pink asked, half-amused, as Law passed the window where he was smoking.

"Like I can stay with all this damn noise." Law muttered and glanced minutely over his shoulder again. Corazón had two different textbooks open in his lap now, appearing more resigned as Doflamingo flipped through the sections, talking miles per minute. "…I didn't know he could get this worked up."

"Who, Doffy?" Senor Pink snorted, "'s not as rare as you think. Always drives him crazy when Corazón misspells stuff or adds something wrong or forgets where this or that island is on the map."

Law blinked. " _Why?_ "

There was a chuckle. Senor Pink gave him a look that Law found irritating, because he saw it too much in the Family and it usually meant someone thought him cute.

"Old habits die hard, kid. Even for Donquixotes.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Their mother weakened, growing sicker on moldy bread. Rosinante, young as he was, made the associations quickly. Doflamingo fumed the first time he refused a hard-won crust, swearing and blood-red with anger. He was always capable of saying the cruelest things._

 _Rosinante only shook his head again and again, sobs caught on the hooks in his chest. He had no idea how to articulate his terror. Doflamingo's stare grew bewildered, annoyed. The silence for them was a long and desolate one._

 _But eventually, Doflamingo sighed. He gathered up his brother in his arms and told him not to cry. Afterwards, he made rice balls out of stolen grain, clumsy creations mimicked off his threadbare recollections of the slaves._

 _Sometimes, he wished he'd paid them more mind._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The Family's penchant was for finger foods, anything easy to grab and hard to snatch away. As a result most meals were bread-based, countless combinations of pizzas and sandwiches that Law pushed aside without backwards glance. He was stony and cold-eyed. He offered up no reasons.

Rosinante wasn't interested anyway. He molded rice balls for them both at midnight, beneath the hot bulb of the kitchen cabin. He taught the boy how to shape the rice into triangles, fold seaweed and leave a dimple behind for seasonings. He even crafted a few into animals and laughed at Law's distaste ("I'll call the bear…Bepo." "Don't." "Cheeky brat, what's wrong with Bepo?" "Everything.")

When they were finished, Law would wolf down his share, sticky grains making a mess of his face. It made Rosinante smile and Law scrunched his nose, grumbled and snapped, but did not mind it secretly. And for all the stove fires, broken dishes and backed-up sinks Rosinante had to his name, Law would grudgingly concede his prowess with riceballs. ("You're adorable sometimes." " _Shut up,_ stupid clown.")

"Odd the things people have in common," Doffy said one day, mid-autumn, when they'd made too many and were dumping the extras on the Family. He held the rice ball Law had practically demanded he take, while Rosinante towered next to his chair, a quiet shadow. They observed Buffalo and Machvise cram ten into their mouths, Baby Five and Gladius daring them to do twenty.

"You know I loved it when you made these," Rosinante said and Doffy scoffed.

"Why? I didn't know what I was doing. They tasted like shit."

"Hm, yeah, they did," Rosinante shrugged at his brother's glare, "But…you tried. And you made them for me."

He spoke heavily, as if it meant something.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _In winter, they met another child—a street rat with dirty, cut-up hair and a face all gaunt and yellowed._

" _You know they pay you," she said, "In the house furthest down the road, with the red curtains. It's not so hard. I've done it before. They pay you. They won't mind if you're boys."_

 _Rosinante did not want to go. He was sniffling and hiccupping still, remembering their mother who was seven days buried. Doflamingo was growing weary of his tears._

 _The house had a gap in the curtain of the back window, wide enough for them to peek through. Huddled inside were more children their own age. Ragged and skeletal. Naked._

 _Rosinante stopped looking when the men arrived. He pressed his face into the back of his brother's shoulder, soaked it with tears, begged and begged to go home. Doflamingo hardly heard him. He watched the whole thing blankly, not quite understanding what he was seeing._

 _But he did wonder then why he should have ever been reduced to this level at all, to this_ _ **place**_ _, with these vermin who committed acts so grotesque and strange._

 _The answer it seemed never changed never changed never changed._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doffy drank more in the winter, was crueler, hungrier and more restless. Diamante milked this opportunity every chance he had, suggesting visits to the brothel or bringing call girls on board, declaring the absurd bullshit concept that was executive happy hours which were full of endless whoring.

Rosinante spent most of these at the sticky counters, adding another layer to the acrid cigarette stench of whatever dimly lit tavern they were frequenting. Women approached him with endless interest, fancying his sinewy limbs, his high-borne features and golden hair. Diamante snorted when he turned down the twentieth girl and asked him if he was a fag, if his cherry had yet to be popped. Rosinante didn't even look at him.

The plastic chandelier overhead rattled. Shrieks and moans sunk through the flooring as his brother worked through the entire harem that had followed him upstairs. The wind howled in competition. Rosinante stared out the dark windows, each one draped by flowing red curtains and thought of things he wished he could forget.

Then Law was there. Rosinante couldn't remember exactly how. The child must have sneaked off board and was caught by the bouncers. There was a jumbled explanation about groceries or ship parts, something Law kept rambling into Rosinante's shoulder even after he'd rushed over and scooped him up. For once, he did not complain about being held, clutching his shirt with confused and terrified eyes, and in that moment Rosinante suddenly _hated_ this place, hated these people, hated his brother. Truly hated him for the first time in his life.

"We got separated," Law whispered, "Baby Five, she—" A crash cut him off, a chorus of screams erupting over their heads.

"What the hell—" Diamante was struggling to rise even as Rosinante tore up the stairs with Law in his arms and stopped dead at the top.

Baby Five was in the hall, her dress half off, narrow little-girl shoulders bare to the cold and a corpse at her feet. Blood pooled on the floor, sprayed in arcs across Baby Five and Doffy's shoes as he loomed over her. The women peered out of rooms like frightened mice. They'd screamed only once and had not dared to again.

And the silence could've been seconds, minutes, _ages._ Perhaps there was fury in it, Rosinante could not tell. He wondered if it was better that he couldn't see his brother's eyes.

"What have I told you about strangers?"

Baby Five gazed up at him, crimson dripping from her pallid cheek. Her eyes were huge and her pupils blown. She licked her wind-chapped lips.

"He said he needed me."

"Did he?" Doffy knelt down. "Well, I need you too, Baby. I need you more. Much more. Were you going to put this filth's interests before my own?"

Baby Five's chin wobbled. "No, Young Master, never. Never, never, I'm sorry."

Doffy just watched her, unsmiling. Rosinante could not fathom what he saw. He finally moved to pick Baby Five up when she began to cry, blood and torn dress and tears and all, and walked right by Rosinante for the door. Past every red-curtained window.

"We're leaving, Rosi," he muttered, Baby's arms locked around his neck.

Doffy drank so hard later that night that he actually puked. Rosinante sat on the bathroom floor and held back his brother's hair.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _There were butterflies in the second spring. Pastel hues and delicate rings, flitting about among the sun-washed grass._

 _Homing freed them from spider webs. He told his sons that they must have pity. Rosinante found no hardship in listening. He never did stop feeling sorry, not about anything, let alone butterflies._

 _Doflamingo wasn't sorry. He did not know how to be and hadn't ever really learned. In his mind, he'd been shown precious little reason. And he was curious to see what would happen._

 _So he went out at last and snatched one of the creatures from a leaf, sapphire wings and white dots, and stuck it to the largest web he could find. It writhed and squirmed, sending vibrations across the threads and the spider skittered down on hairy black legs. Doflamingo watched it sink fangs into its twitching prey, mummify the pretty thing in gauzy silk and thread, until not a hint of color remained._

 _And that fascination, twisted and ugly and hidden away years ago, came roaring back to life._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Doflamingo's strings were sharp as knives, as fine and thin as hair. Law could see them sometimes, if he really squinted, glinting when struck by a particular sunray. He had a weird thing for spinning them into webs, enormous ones that stretched the length of a town wall, where he could sit at the center, legs crossed, balanced as if a giant, macabre pink spider.

Rival crews or uppity marines that ran into the strings were caught by Parasite, forced to dance to his grisly tune. He told Law that control was paramount, that he would only have it when everything squirmed in his hold and couldn't break free.

And all the while, Corazón released butterflies from spider webs. His broad hands opened, sending them into the spring sky. He told Law that he must have pity.

"You understand, don't you?" he whispered, kneeling down, and even though he looked Law in the eye, it felt like he was seeing someone else entirely.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _They were caught several times that second summer. On their most hungry days usually, when their throats were parched bone and the vision rippled in their heads._

 _Iron, adult hands would wrench them forward, shove them stumbling to their knees, yelling, cursing, so angry, so very angry over a scrap of meat, an apple set to putrefy. Agony speckled the surrounding ground._

 _Rosinante whimpered and sobbed. He pled for mercy like their father had taught them. He did not understand why these people hurt him, did not understand what he had done, did not know the meaning of cruelty or bloodlines or grudges unsatisfied._

 _Doflamingo did not whimper or sob or plead. He did not understand why either, but his mind, a colder and quieter place with each beating, registered the injustice. It registered, like a snake in the shade, strange meticulous details like how the metal pipes could crack bone. How wooden sticks left vivid bruises. The booted kicks, worst of all, snapped their ribs innumerable times._

 _When the crowd had had their fill and dispersed, Doflamingo staggered to his feet. The rage would rush back to him then and stain his vision raw-red. He had a little brother to help up though so he ignored it, dusting Rosinante off and checking his head for injuries. He warned him again to shield his head with his hands, that it was better to have broken knuckles than a skull._

 _But Rosinante would only cry harder, almost blind with tears, until Doflamingo gave up and carried him home on his back. Their father would cry too when he saw them. He would take Rosinante in his arms and rub his back in gentle circles. He would whisper soft, meaningless lies into his ear until at last, Rosinante calmed._

 _Doflamingo watched, feeling vaguely bitter, vaguely_ _ **sick to death**_ _, and not knowing why._

* * *

xxx

* * *

They collided with a Whitebeard faction in the summer. To say the least, the aftermath was not pretty.

The entire Spider Miles hideout had been transformed into a makeshift clinic, as Law instructed Jora on how to bind head wounds or barked orders at Lao G and Machvise to help move tables. To the injured he spoke softly, even Buffalo who'd merely sprained an ankle but was in hysterics. He rubbed backs and soothed dying men with lies.

"Quite a little professional, isn't he?" Doflamingo said, as they watched from a distance, leaned next to each other against the wall and out of the way.

A small curve tilted his brother's lips. "Yeah, he is."

And he could not quite disguise the helpless affection in his eyes. It was not mere amusement or fondness or even the tiresome compassion Rosi felt the need to grace everything. Doflamingo reclined his head back, a bemused set to his jaw.

"I'm glad, you know."

His brother's eyes slid over, brow faintly arched. "About what?"

Doflamingo shrugged, gaze towards the ceiling.

"…you have what you need."

Rosi stared, baffled, but he didn't elaborate. The child made Rosi happy. In his most introspective moments, Doflamingo thought the boy had provided his brother with whatever he always seemed to be searching for in Doflamingo himself.

Some success on Law's part…or maybe a failure on his own. It was confusing. He didn't much enjoy thinking about it.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _They saw the leaves of the last autumn from where they dangled on the wall. Leaves as red as copper, as rope burns and blood and flames._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Law was twelve years old, three days after they'd thrown him a silly birthday party, when the first white spots appeared. It would only get worse from there and spread quickly. Law stood before Doflamingo's chair, expression schooled into a cold one. He had only two things to say.

"Guess my luck's pretty shitty," and, "Don't tell Cora-san."

Doflamingo smirked. "Cora-san, eh?"

Blush dusted Law's cheeks. "…Don't tell him I call him that either. Just don't tell him anything."

"…Those patches aren't selectively visible, Law."

"I _mean_ I want to tell him myself. In my own way."

Doflamingo regarded him. "One year remains. Nothing's buried or finished yet."

The boy shrugged, eyes flat. One year to obtain miraculous healing abilities from a possibly non-existent Devil Fruit. Law could calculate the odds. He wasn't naïve.

"It's fine either way," Doflamingo's brow rose and something of it made Law slip up and give him the smallest of smiles, "I had a good time."

Then he left and Doflamingo stared at the door as it clicked shut after him, folding his hands and frowning lightly. He couldn't deny the turn of events had been disappointing, perhaps even a little aggravating.

" _Neee, what's the matter, Doffy?"_

A puddle oozed down from the ceiling of his cabin, congealing back into the shape of a man. Doflamingo propped his chin on his bridged fingers, not bothering to look at Trebol.

"About the boy," he answered simply, "Maybe it's time to be more active in the search for a cure."

"Behe, oh yeah? You've grown fond of him then?"

Doflamingo took a moment to answer. He supposed he had developed a bit of a soft spot. The child made Rosi happy. He was so ruthlessly clever, with such an acerbic little tongue. To think of the wealth in potential which would perish and slip through his hands made Doflamingo's skin itch. (And the child made Rosi happy…)

"It would be a waste," he said, softer than he'd realized. And for a single second, a frown split across Trebol's face.

"Well, we follow wherever you lead, Doffy, as always," he said, sliding forward, "But what about the Mariejois ships?"

"We've been raiding them for months without results," Doflamingo shrugged, "It can afford to wait."

"That's too bad. There's another fleet passing through the North Blue this winter. I have a goood feeling."

Doflamingo twitched as mucus dribbled onto the arm of his chair. He glanced over, just slightly, glasses glinting beneath the lights.

"Why?"

"According to intel, one of the ships is twice the size of the others. The sails have gold embroidered into them and a carved dragon for a figurehead." Trebol smiled, sniffing up another strand of snot, "Three guesses what kind of passenger it's carrying."

Doflamingo turned around. "You'd better have gotten your facts straight, Trebol."

"Behehe, you can always trust me, Doffy. Always, always." Trebol said, and leaned in, encroaching, "It would be a shame to let them pass by. There'll be plenty of time to search for Law's cure later, right? And after what they did, laughing at you, casting you out, leaving you in this filthy world to suffer. You chopped off your father's head, you watched your mother die, the _things_ you did to have them take you and your brother back and still you were refused. How can you let that stand?"

Red was hazing across Doflamingo's eyes, hunger curling in his belly. For a moment, he was desperate and furious and ten again, lips parted, peeling back from his cold, white teeth. And that instant of hesitation or sentiment or whatever nameless thing it had been, crumbled in Trebol's fist.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Leave my brother alone," Rosinante would say that autumn, tremulous, encountering Trebol alone in the ash-ridden night. "Stop following us around."_

" _We would make him great."_

" _He already is great," Rosinante said, pale and fists bunched, "H-He's already the best and all of you should keep away."_

" _Behehe, you think you can win?"_

" _He doesn't need you."_

 _Trebol shook his head, grinning very widely._

" _It is you,_ boy, _that he does not need."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Crewmates and Family members shied out of his path as Doflamingo stalked down the ship's corridor. They did not know the meaning of that veined leer, but realized through some deep, shivering instinct within that they were better off for it. Jora hushed an excited Baby Five, stopping her from approaching when he walked right by. She shot a startled look at Lao G and Senor Pink, who could only shrug.

Rosinante put out his cigarette. He reached for his brother in alarm.

"Doffy?"

Trebol snatched his wrist, guffawing at Rosinante's surprised and then disgusted eyes. Doflamingo disappeared around the corner, having not seen him or heard him. Or anything.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _I'll come back for you, Rosi. I will, I promise. Wait for me, okay?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Winter crawled into Rosinante's lungs, wrung them dry of air. It was bitterly cold on the sea, the gales slapping across waves and sails and cheeks, striking repeatedly like the hard, bony palm of a hand. Fractals reamed the portholes and collected at the perimeter of the opulent quarterdeck. Icicles hung from thick, bristling ropes, melting onto polished wood.

The frost reached for all things. It was never picky, brushing its pale blue fingers across village and town, human and beast.

Even the ships of Celestial Dragons.

Rosinante thought about this on and off, more and then less, detachedly and obsessively. It was better than focusing on anything else. Like how blood was so much more vivid in snow, a brilliant shade somehow, and that it was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

Banisters and rigging, the floor and the figurehead and the empty glass helmet, broken on its side.

Law cursed as he bumped it slightly while shuffling past, made it rock like a cracked eggshell.

The Family was looting the bowels of the ship with fervor, bustling out piles of sparkling treasure. There was no love lost for them over the slaughter of a World Noble's regime. They navigated around the strewn innards when they could and studiously averted their gaze from their red-washed young master, who was dapper and glowing and gold in their minds always.

"I know what it is, Rosi," Doffy said, gripping his shoulders, "I _know._ Finally, finally."

"What do you know?" Rosinante asked weakly, "Why are we here?" His brother was grinning at him like he'd just conquered the sun, poised as if he was decked out in his Sunday finest rather than steaming celestial gore, and his face looked monstrous again even though it hadn't looked monstrous in a long time and Rosinante _didn't understand didn't understand._

"You remember the holy treasure of Mariejois, don't you? How it was to be divulged to us when we came of age?" Doffy snickered. "Well, I thought it a shame we lost our chance to learn the secret. I thought perhaps we should have them tell us anyway. It's their own fault for milling about the seas. Always sending their gold here or there, vacationing all over. Only a matter of time before one of them decided to accompany a Mariejois fleet. It's only fair. This is our birthright, Rosi. It's what we're _owed._ "

His nails were clawing into Rosinante's skin, leaving bright welts.

"Saint Selma or Shima or whatever his name is, was very helpful. Super helpful. It was embarrassing. You know his top guard kept trying to attack even after I slit him from throat to groin. Fucking bled all over me, just look at this! And then his master goes and squeals after a single lost fingernail."

He burst out laughing, as if the memory just delighted him, and Rosinante was eight years old again, all of his soul shrinking from that sound.

Doffy didn't see him. Doffy wasn't seeing anything. He went on about how they couldn't kill the Celestial Dragon, about how he was going to be their messenger back to Mariejois and how big changes were coming. They wouldn't have to fret soon about things like the Navy or accessing Paradise. The past two years would age into dust and memory.

"Everything ends in the end," Doffy said, softening ever slightly, "doesn't it, little brother?"

The words echoed in Rosinante's head long after he was left alone. When Doffy had strode back into the captain's cabin and the screaming began anew.

Everything ends.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Everything ends._


	11. poena

**poena - "pain, punishment and penalty"**

* * *

Oh, the Marine dogs were called off of him instantly. Almost overnight. The title he required though - that would take some time.

Most of it was a matter of ego. Doflamingo imagined with delight how Mariejois smarted over the humiliation. They would withhold a warlord offer and let him run rampant, as if to imply they weren't afraid, that he wasn't threat enough to deal the most permanent, most _disfiguring_ damage ever conceived.

Well, whether that was true or not, he was sure they were perfectly aware.

And Doflamingo didn't mind playing the long game. The Grand Line was a big place after all, with so many soft, amusing little pieces inside. He'd have some fun before they came around groveling.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doffy lost all inhibition in the new year. Ever since the raid and release of the Celestial Dragon back to Mariejois, he had ordered riskier and riskier attacks. The ports and fleets the Family's preyed upon became of a far larger and deadlier variety, some with giant Marine forces stationed only a couple knots away.

No one ever stopped them. They took what they pleased, slaughtered who they pleased, entered recklessly and stayed for hours and no one ever came. This new laughable ease with which his brother conducted business horrified Rosinante.

Sengoku could not get the Gorosei to budge, no matter his or Tsuru's protestations, or even what Rosinante reported. For them, every life had already been relegated to a column on a balance sheet - numbers to be subtracted at the leisure of his brother's whims. About the only thing that gave Doffy pause anymore was when Rosinante sweet-talked (or shouted) him into bypassing an idea himself.

The World Government would not touch the Donquixote Family.

Rosinante didn't even know why he was so damn surprised.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Shit."

Baby Five jumped as a crash resounded behind her, whipping around with wide eyes. Law, who had been at her heels a few minutes ago, was now almost twelve feet away and on his knees. The boxes he'd been carrying had fallen in a mess around him, one of them split open on its side, dumping out tools and medical supplies. Baby Five dropped her own boxes and padded back.

"Law?"

He was clutching his head, blinking blearily at the ground like he couldn't see it well. He cursed again.

Baby Five squatted down next to him, hands on knees, looking out towards the ship – a tiny pink dot in the far scarlet distance buoyed to the docks. It was getting late. Buffalo had probably already gone ahead on board. He didn't like waiting for Law, who had been getting slower and slower since the new year, needing more and more breaks to catch his breath.

Not that she could blame him. Law was grumpier than usual too. He hadn't been very fun lately.

"We're going to get scolded," she murmured, "Jora said we have to be back by six."

"I didn't ask you to wait."

Baby Five ignored him, because Law never asked for anything. He was just like Cora-san had been when she first joined the Family, the one person who never gave her any requests.

"I'll wait," she said and got a scowl. Law tried to get back to his feet, but only fell down again on his butt. Baby Five dragged one of the boxes over and pushed his back against it.

She was gaining a knack for telling when Law truly needed help. Or when his body needed it anyway, even if his mind didn't want it, even if he never said 'thank you' and his glare was still very scary.

Baby Five made a stiff upper lip to keep herself from whimpering. She righted the second box that had fallen over, picking up all the spilled contents and carefully setting them back inside.

There was a beat where Law just watched her. The rise and fall of his chest was strained. "It'll be dark in another minute," he said, "Just go back to the ship."

Baby Five blinked. "…What about you?"

"I'll follow when I'm ready. Hurry the hell up and go. Doflamingo must be getting his jollies from living on the edge these days. This island's crawling with Marines."

"Don't say rude things about the Young Master," Baby Five chided instantly, even if she was a little confused about it herself. She couldn't leave Law here alone though. Even if he was becoming less and less useful to the Young Master, he was still family.

And they were on the emptier side of the island anyway. The dock the ship was anchored at was abandoned (now that Gladius and Senor Pink had made it so). If she helped Law walk, they could make it back safely in the dark.

"Someone's coming."

Law hissed the words, right before heavy footsteps vibrated through the stillness. Baby Five's heart stuttered as a shadow came down the trail towards them. They were out in the open, literally in the middle of the road. She froze.

"Get out of here," Law was muttering, "Baby, go now, there's still time."

"I-It's them," she whispered, and raised her hand. It took her forever to manage to reshape it into a gun. _"The Marines."_

The Young Master had always told her to stay away from the Marines. He compared them to the big Venus flytraps Trebol-san liked to raise. At first, they could look harmless, even nice, could offer her exciting promises and yummy sweets, but once she was close enough they would snatch her up and never let go. They would take her away from the Young Master, from the Family, and she would be alone and unhappy for the rest of her life.

Baby Five was terrified of them. She could even say she hated them. And Law would get caught if she left him. He would be the one taken away and she didn't want that to happen. He was so alone already. She felt bad for him all the time.

The shadow drew closer. It was so big. Baby Five paled and shook. She crumpled slightly and when it was barely ten feet away, she suddenly gave in, whimpered and her eyes squeezed shut.

They opened again a second later at a familiar voice.

"Kids?"

The shadow became Cora-san. He looked just as surprised to see them. Maybe even more.

"What are you doing here?" he said and Baby Five thought his eyes shifted, flicked up towards the road behind them, before widening at Law. "What hap—"

"Cora-san!" Her gun remolded into her hand and she grabbed the hem of his shirt. "There's something wrong with Law, he can't get up, please help!"

He was already moving before she'd even finished. Cora-san knelt down in front of Law, who kept saying he was fine over and over again, mouth twisted into a frustrated grimace. He looked angry now with Baby Five, so she darted for cover behind Cora-san's coat, watching as he slid a hand beneath Law's thin shoulders and propped him up.

His shirt hung loose beneath the moonlight and revealed the white patch on his chest, along with a whole cluster of similar spots. It was like he'd gotten flour dough or paint stains stuck all over himself and Baby Five's eyes widened.

"This is larger than before," Cora-san said, brushing his thumb against the one on Law's chest. He sounded worried and Baby Five saw the way it made Law freeze.

"No, it's not," he grumbled, trying to swat Cora-san's fingers away, "You're imagining stuff."

Baby Five was about to pipe up that it _did_ look larger than before, when they all stiffened at the sound of new footsteps.

They weren't as deep as Cora-san's, but there were two sets of them. Law grunted in surprise as Cora-san scooped him into his arms. Baby Five squeaked and pressed into Cora-san's coat, burrowing her face into the black feathers.

"Calm down," he said and Baby Five buttoned her mouth immediately, even though she didn't really feel like staying quiet when two _real_ Marines stepped into view this time. They were both girls – the younger one was wearing the uniform she usually saw Marines in, while the older lady had a long white overcoat draped over her shoulders, the kind Jora had told her signaled the rank of an officer.

"Well, this is a surprise, Executive Corazón. Finding pirates mere miles from a main base. The nerve of your lot astounds me by the day," the older lady said and Baby Five accidentally caught her gaze. Her hair was a graying blue, which Baby Five could tell use to be very pretty. She looked around Jora's age, though Jora never had that same stern set to her mouth that she did. Her eyes were hard as rocks and scary to look into. They made Baby Five feel tiny.

"…Are these the children?" she asked.

It was kind of amazing how calm Cora-san was. Baby Five wondered if he had a plan, because he only stood up after a moment, still carrying Law and said very softly, "They are."

The younger girl sucked in a quick breath, like the ones people made after burning themselves on the stove. Nothing was said though. They stood there in the rapidly chilling night, staring at each other and Baby Five didn't know what Cora-san was thinking. Why weren't they trying to escape?

The older lady crossed her arms and almost looked like she sighed.

"And where," she said, "is your captain?"

"At your service, madam."

From the corner of her eye, Baby Five saw Cora-san, Law and the younger Marine all startle. As soon as the Young Master had appeared however, materializing out of thin air a few steps behind Cora-san, Baby Five detached herself and scrambled to him.

"Young Master!" she cried and ran for his left leg, where she felt safest in the world, and clung to the fabric of his trousers. The Young Master patted her head, his large hand smoothing down a few strands of her hair.

"I wasn't expecting you here," he said, though Baby Five could hear the grin in his voice. The very wide grin. "Come to play, Tsuru-san?"

Baby Five blinked at the name. She thought she'd heard it before. It clicked a second later that it was the name of the one marine Young Master said she could _not_ be caught by no matter what. That if Tsuru caught her, then she would never ever be able to see him again.

Baby Five trembled, tears beginning to gather at the unfathomable thought. She buried her face into the Young Master's leg with her heart pounding. Oh, if she and Law had been found alone…

"I think the better question is have _you_ come to surrender, Doflamingo," Tsuru said, "Given how thoughtfully you've been sending your crew to me duckling by duckling."

Baby Five wasn't sure what that meant, but the following silence was _awful._ Something seemed to hiss across the Young Master's skin, warm and dry like static. She heard his knuckles cracking, heard Law's puzzled mumble of the Young Master's name.

"That was unpleasant of you," he said, and suddenly took Cora-san by the shoulder and pulled him back, stepping in front of him and Law, "You shouldn't have done that to me."

The younger Marine gripped her sword and prepared to unsheathe. Tsuru held out a hand to halt her, completely unperturbed, despite how he towered over them. "I only did what I had to. That child needed more than you could give. He deserved better. You ought to realize that."

" _No,"_ the Young Master said, nearly cutting her off, "He belonged to _me._ He was _mine._ I found him. I kept him. I _wanted_ him when no one else in the world did, least of all _you people,_ and now you say he _deserved_ …"

There were tremors running through his body. Baby Five's eyes widened at the glinting appearance of strings unwinding from the hand over her head. "Young Master?" she whispered, at the same time Cora-san reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Doffy, stop."

The Young Master went still. Several beats passed where she barely breathed, before his muscles finally relaxed. The strings loosened, breaking from his fingers and tangling in her hair. He would pluck them out later and braid them into a ring for her. He would say he was sorry, but never explain.

"Well, as much as I enjoyed chatting, I think we'll be on our way." The Young Master prodded Cora-san, who started moving towards the pier, Law cradled in his arms. Baby Five saw him cast another glance at Tsuru, a quick and strange one she didn't think the Young Master saw.

"You'll behave, Doflamingo," Tsuru said, "If you know what's good for you."

"Oh? Why? Are you coming to stop me, Tsuru-san? Going to chase me around and around again until we've gone another lap around the North Blue?"

"Nothing would delight me more," Tsuru said, curt, her eyes narrowing just slightly, "But your recent actions have certainly been tiresome ones. What are you planning now? What have you done, boy?"

The Young Master laughed.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

He wrenched away without another word, pulling her from his leg and into his arms. He was too rough and it hurt, but she said nothing, bunching up his shirt in her hands, pressing as close as she could. Baby Five didn't look back again until the distance had stretched good and wide.

Tsuru hadn't moved at all.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _What have you done, boy?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

"I said I'm fine. Put me down already, I can walk on my own."

Rosinante's eyes widened as Law proceeded to follow his declaration with a series of harsh coughs. In the relative coolness of the ship, fever radiated from the small body as it near-convulsed in his arms.

"Hold on, hold on," he said, hurrying into the childrens' bunkroom and setting him gently on a bed. Law's face was nearly colorless by the time he could calm down from the fit. He hung limp for a moment against Rosinante, without even the strength to sit upright and Rosinante knelt at the bedside sort of awkwardly, back strained.

"It's just the flu," Law said, voice hoarse, "Buffalo had it a few weeks ago and I must've caught it. I'm fine. Don't make that stupid face."

Rosinante's brow furrowed.

"What face?" he said and eased Law onto his bed, drawing up the sheets, "Get some rest."

Law's mouth scrunched into a frown at being babied, but he also seemed exhausted enough not to protest. He set his head back against the pillow, disgruntled. Rosinante held back a sigh and stood.

There'd been a few times now in which Law had approached him, tugged on his shirt or climbed into his lap, looking like he wanted to say something. He had never managed to though and every one of these meetings ended in Law pursing his lips and trying to shuffle away. Rosinante, of course, wouldn't let him until he'd tousled his hair and hugged him and they'd generally messed around enough that Law departed with a tiny smile on his face.

In hindsight, perhaps he'd only made it harder.

Because as the boy's health took a nosedive in the new year, he'd stopped trying to talk about the disease at all and simply began hiding it from him instead. Poorly. Until Rosinante had finally connected the dots for himself. The child was running out of time. He was dying.

A crash reverberated from the hallway. A wine bottle shattering that jolted him out of his thoughts.

He winced at the crazed laughter which shuddered through a second later, followed by the alarmed voices of Family members. _Doffy._

"He really does drink too much," Law whispered, "You should go stop him."

He spoke with flat practicality, gazing up at Rosinante with his drooping golden eyes. They were larger somehow than they use to be, more like a child's, and because of this he didn't manage to hide the flicker of sadness in them. The faint disappointment.

Rosinante's chest crumpled. He sat down again on the edge of the bed.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep. Doffy can wait."

He could not have walked away then for the world. For his brother, who may as well have been the world.

Law breathed. He was too tired to argue or even feign irritation. When Rosinante reached out to test his temperature again, the boy leaned in.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The waves were as restless as he was.

Doflamingo snickered, half hanging off the crow's nest as he hurtled another empty bottle off his perch. The stars had sprayed across the sky, overcrowding the moon, little ragged white pinpricks like bullet holes on fancy wallpaper.

It would take a while before he'd grow bored of the memory of Tsuru's face as they'd sailed away - the impotent rage simmering in the eyes of her otherwise stoic expression.

Doflamingo had not truly felt the intoxication of his new freedom until he'd seen her face and the giddy thought flitted through his head of seeking out other marine officers to flaunt around in front of too – the higher the rank the more amusing the fury would probably be. He dismissed the idea quickly though.

It wouldn't be as satisfying on anyone else. He savored it on Tsuru, because it felt personal. Because she frustrated him and perplexed him and she'd taken what was his.

And she was wrong. About everything. She was wrong.

His lips peeled back, the bones of his jaws grinding.

 _Don't presume to know me, old crone…_

"There you are."

Doflamingo blinked as Rosi sat down next to him, long legs dangling next to his, hundreds of feet above ground.

"How'd you get up here?" he said, grin falling away in his surprise, "You could've broken your neck."

"Like the way you're about to?" Rosi said, just as flatly, and pulled him upright. He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a thumb flicking impatiently over his lighter. Doflamingo reached over to help him, before he could set them both on fire.

Smoke soon seeped past Rosi's dark lips, webbing out into the night. He said, "You took forever to find."

Doflamingo's brow lifted at the trace of accusation. "Oh? I wasn't aware you were looking for me."

Rosi didn't retort. He sighed quietly.

"I'm always looking for you."

What was that suppose to mean? Doflamingo tilted his head, but his brother never glanced at him. He was staring out towards the rolling, glittering sea, jaw tight, even as his shoulders drooped. An old, half-dead instinct urged him towards concern.

"…Is something the matter, Rosi?"

The answer took so long in coming Doflamingo almost thought it wouldn't.

"It's about Law."

And Rosi told him about the growing white spots, the fever, the warp speed at which the disease was spreading. Doflamingo realized then that he'd forgotten about the boy's illness. Forgotten entirely. Even though it was one of the few things he'd ever given a second, third or fourth shit about.

Try as he might, he couldn't recall how that had happened.

 _Well, why bother now?_ The voice inside whispered. _It's too late. A shame, a waste, but you've greater things to attend to. Kid's going to die. Corazón will get over it._

But Doflamingo looked into his little brother's eyes, his soft weak eyes, and thought _No he won't._

 _Doesn't matter._ The voice said. _Doesn't matter anymore._

But Rosi wouldn't be happy. …How could that not matter? Doflamingo touched his brother's shoulder. He swiped the hair out of his startled eyes.

"I'll take care of it," he said, even as his mind kept pulsing, kept hissing—

 _Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter anymore._

 _Yes, it does._ The past breathed.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"I found what you were asking for, Doffy."

"Excellent. And who will I have to, eheh, _persuade_ to hand it over?"

"I'll send you the coordinates of the last known location. From what I've heard, you might be…a bit surprised."

Doflamingo's brow rose. Though the Den Den Mushi's expression didn't change, there was a bemused note to Vergo's voice.

"And why's that, Mr. Vice Admiral?" he said, propping his chin with a hand, "Not anything troublesome, is it?"

The snail's mouth turned slightly. Vergo never expressed his feelings on his recent promotion, unless Doflamingo brought it up first. He'd told Doflamingo that, to him, it was only what was expected to better complete his mission. Fuck, his Vergo was so perfect. So wonderfully useful and relentless.

"Of course not. It's a matter of irony mainly. Coincidence. I think you'll have some fun with it."

"Fufu, you're an endless tease. Will I really?"

"If I know you, Doffy, then yes. You will."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Oh, Vergo knew him well.

Doflamingo laughed for so long he had to sit down. He was still giggling to himself later in the lounge, trying to stifle the noise, while Senor Pink accosted the Family with pictures of his new son.

Doflamingo didn't even catch the name. His mind went around and around, looping like a wheel of fire. Of all the places it could've been.

God, it was such a small, shitty world.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Do you recognize this?"

Rosinante restrained his flinch when Doffy unrolled the stained and crinkly map on the table. He was seated across from him in the meeting room, doused to his elbows in crimson, grinning as if he were expecting praise. Rosinante had no idea where his brother had gone, only that it was supposed to be a "surprise" and he hadn't been permitted to come along.

The other executives plodded past them both and out the door, each holding a bulging sack of loot, each grinning almost as wide as their don. Trebol's gaze crawled like a slug over his face as he went by.

"Rosi, hurry up, at least give me a guess."

Rosinante looked down at the parchment. It was a faded rendition of the North Blue, slightly inaccurate along certain degrees and some of the landmarks poorly drawn. Rosinante wondered blankly who Doffy had killed for something as nonsensical as this.

"It's a map."

His brother sighed, flecked and spindly fingers drumming against the tabletop.

"Obviously, fool. But what about that island in the upper left corner?"

Rosinante looked down again. He was having trouble concentrating and it wasn't because the room was suffocating under the stenches of copper and iron or that his brother was the primary source for both (and god, that said something terrible there, didn't it?)

It was because there was a messily added sketch crammed into the borders, with shaky arrows zig-zagging from it to the gnarled mass of land Doffy was so insistent he identify.

"What's this?" he finally asked, pointing at the sketch. It had been done in frantic, overzealous strokes of red crayon, as if the artist had been afraid of forgetting its image. The shape resembled a heart-shaped strawberry, with a thin stem of green up top. "Is that…a Devil Fruit?"

Doffy pouted, upset he'd jumped the gun, but nodded.

"The Ope Ope no Mi."

Sometimes, he thought Rosi a little slow.

He'd just spent fifteen minutes sharing all the details he'd gathered about the fruit's powers, its rarity, its mind-boggling potential and his brother was just sitting there as if literally nothing had sunk through.

"…So the user performs surgeries?"

Doflamingo held another sigh. "You make it sound so mundane. These are _miraculous_ surgeries, Rosi. They defy physics. They can alter the existential plane. It's not just being able to sew up a gut wound or pull out a fucking cavity. This fruit can switch around the floors of a thousand-ton building, physical locations, personalities. It can pop out your heart without a drop of blood and it can cure _anything._ "

At this, Rosi finally began to look a little more attentive.

"You mean…"

Doflamingo grinned. "Yes, Rosi. Life-threatening injuries, genetic disorders…incurable diseases."

Rosi's eyes were steadily widening, hope shimmering bright and naked on his face like first light.

He asked in a rasp, "Where is it?"

Doflamingo sniggered. Finally, finally back to the main point. That awful, ugly, utterly fucking hilarious one.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _What have you done, boy?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

"What do you remember of the old island?"

Rosinante blinked at the sudden question.

It took him a moment to figure out what "old island" Doffy was referring to, before the phantom shivers were flowing down his spine.

What did he remember?

It was a bit blurred now, a sweeping expanse of heat and gore and anger and pain. There were two years of hunger, the death of Mother, the death of Father, rats skittering from dumpsters.

What _could_ he remember that Doffy didn't tenfold? Rosinante had been too young and he would never be able to discern if that had been to his misfortune or not.

Doffy knew every spat curse, every stench, every thin lick of flame. Why was he even asking? What did this have to do with the Devil Fruit?

"There were butterflies," Rosinante heard himself say, "And…the rain."

His brother snorted as if he'd been expecting such an answer. As if it were so typical of him.

"Well, it's all still there, Rosi." Doffy's grin stretched, blood-soaked knuckles rapping against the map, lips revealing pearly strips of teeth. "Waiting."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _What have you done?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

But it wasn't about what he had done. It was about what he _hadn't._

Not yet anyway.


	12. parva avis

**parva avis - "little bird"**

* * *

When Doffy stood up, uncoiling like a panther and chair screeching backwards, Rosinante knew the island was done for. It whispered from every inch of him; the spindly grin, the petrifying aura, the spurt of a giggle in which all the dark, eager, writhing things infesting his mind peeked through.

Up until now, Doffy had never killed anyone not directly involved in his affairs or had been purposely trying to get in his way. It was a line he ghosted around, one he teased and poked at, but it wasn't one he'd crossed. Maybe there was a part of his brother that had been aware, even if only a little, that he mustn't. That he shouldn't.

It wasn't speaking to him anymore.

Rosinante stood as well.

"We'll chart a course tomorrow morning," his brother was saying, "The sooner the better, and-"

"Doffy..."

"-you should get your gun replaced, Rosi. I want you-"

"No..."

"-to have fun too after all. So maybe something-"

 _"Stop it."_

 _"-that makes really big holes."_

Rosinante did not remember moving, but suddenly he was across the room. Suddenly he had locked onto his brother's wrists and was forcing him around. The dried blood made his skin clammy and his clothes stiff to touch. The stench was overpowering, nauseating, and the silence was beyond imagination.

Doffy's mouth had literally fallen open.

Rosinante's legs felt like they would liquefy at any second and his heart thudded so hard, he could see its pulse at the hazy corners of his vision. But he had to speak quickly, had to say something.

He pulled forward his older brother and croaked, "Don't. Please, please. Don't do it. It's been eighteen years, half the people on that island won't have anything to do with what happened. They won't know why we're there. They won't know who we are. It would be so pointless, Doffy, so empty. Please don't do it."

The blank shock on Doffy's face was starting to flake away. His features were morphing, teeth bared, rage clawing to the surface like an awakened beast. Veins had tunneled across his forehead.

 _"Let go,"_ he said, and his voice could've made the sun shrivel up and die then, but Rosinante did the unthinkable and refused.

"No."

 _"Rosinante."_

He sucked in a breath, swallowed.

 _"...Don't do it, Doffy."_

 _"You little-"_ A ripple of Emperor's Haki flooded the air, hot and heavy as scalding metal. The table groaned and one of the chairs crunched and snapped in half. Rosinante winced, feeling the pressure of it stomping against his skull. It hurt _(it hurt it hurt it hurt)_ , but it wasn't as bad as last time, when Dellinger had been taken. Not nearly. This was fine. He could take it. He would.

Rosinante didn't even learn until later that his body had still been recovering from that first blast of his brother's haki almost four years ago. He didn't feel a thing when his nose and eyes started bleeding and wouldn't have noticed either if Doffy hadn't made that startled, half-choked noise then, as if snapping awake from a dream.

"...Rosi?"

His head lifted. He saw the mess of his own face reflected in his brother's shades. Doffy's expression was blank again, like he couldn't coalesce what he was seeing into a proper thought, and then the surge of haki evaporated.

Rosinante's knees nearly buckled at the sudden relief of weight and he fell against his brother without meaning to. Pinpricks of color dotted his vision as he gasped, steaming blood trickling down and beading off his jawline.

His grip on Doffy's left wrist weakened and after a moment, his brother shook himself free. Rosinante fumbled in a panic for a sleeve or hem instead, but Doffy didn't attempt to yank away. A huge hand engulfed the side of his face, lifted him by the chin.

Doffy's brows were knitted tightly. It was a blend of all sorts of frustration and displeasure. A thumb smeared red across his cheek. The muscles in Doffy's neck twinged.

They stared at each other.

"...Why are you being like this?" his brother said, slowly, "Look at what...why should you care what happens to those vermin? Why should I?"

 _I just told you why._ But he supposed he already knew the reason wouldn't be enough. Doffy wanted revenge and the kind of revenge a man like his brother would want had no expiration date. It did not stop at "getting even" and it did not stop at who deserved what.

Rosinante's mind scrambled for a new justification, one that would actually resonate.

Perhaps it was fate that directed his eyes to the porthole then. Perhaps it was the rhythm of the stars that made him see the wings flash across the glass.

The bird was tiny, a frail speck of white-gray gliding through the endless flood of sky. It swooped towards the sun and the memory ghosted across him, chilled him, sifted through the aisles of his heart.

He looked at his brother and for a moment, saw him at eight years old. Palms opened, loose feathers still fluttering down into his hand.

And Rosinante spoke almost without meaning to.

"My birthday's soon."

Doffy's eyes widened, so animated were they that he could see their movements shifting behind the lenses. "...So?"

"You never get me anything."

"You never _want_ anyth-"

"I change my mind this time," Rosinante said, and squeezed the wrist still in his grasp with all the strength he had, to a degree that must have been painful though Doffy didn't so much as twitch. "Don't hurt those people. Let the past go. That's what I want."

His brother's upper lip quivered, almost curling.

"Foolish thing to ask for," he hissed. It wasn't an outright rejection though and Rosinante could feel Doffy's gaze trailing across his face, following the rivulets of blood. Something like discomfort lined the furrows of Doffy's brow. Rosinante pressed upon it tenderly, dusting over the sole weak spot he knew.

"It would make me happy."

Doffy's shoulders stiffened. The razor corners of his frown slipped a beat, before returning full force. His voice nearly singed the air.

"...think you can play me, little brother?"

"Of course not."

"Then you're being ridiculous."

"Maybe a little."

 _"You are,"_ Doffy snapped, sounding discomfited for the first time in years, unsure of which way to direct his ire, "You're always...you're such a soft touch."

"I know," Rosinante said and released his brother's wrist. He took his hand instead, drawing a gentle, calming circle across the knuckles with his thumb. "But will you do this for me anyway, Doffy? Please?"

Doffy tried to pull away. When Rosinante refused to let him, he stared at their hands, then used the sprinkling of centimeters he had on him to stare at the wall over Rosinante's head. The gears were turning in his mind, but it was impossible to tell which way. Silence tossed about the room, frothing, an ocean onto its own.

"What about the fruit?" Doffy muttered eventually.

Rosinante bit his lip. It would've been better for them to avoid the island altogether, but the fact remained that it was Law's only chance. He recognized in his soul which decision was right.

"...I'll go and find it alone. Just give me the coordinates. I can leave by tomorrow."

"You?" Doffy's tone was flat, bereft of even derision. "Sail back to the North Blue from here? We're in the Grand Line."

"I'll manage."

"I somehow doubt that immensely." Doffy turned to seethe out the window. The bird was already gone.

"No, we'll go together."

"But-"

"You really fucking exhaust me, Rosi." His brother hadn't turned around. He continued not to, even as he spoke, "I already told Diamante he could have his pick of the wenches. He's probably going to bitch now."

As if that was actually the thing that troubled him most, Doffy moved again to yank his right arm free. Rosinante let him go almost before he could try. With a brisk step, he blocked his brother a second time, heart in throat.

"What are you saying?" he whispered, "Doffy, what are you saying? Are you going to spare the island?"

Doffy's features were twisting up like he'd been forced to swallow something bitter. Different shades of exasperation flickered by and by, microseconds of other emotions too muddled to discern. Rosinante kept staring at him. He needed to look Doffy in the face, needed to see the answer with his own eyes. Until then, he wouldn't hope. He couldn't. That was the type of thing which could drive a man insane.

There was one final moment where Doffy seemed on the cusp of taking it all back, before his shoulders suddenly relaxed. Before every part of him relaxed just a little bit and he sighed.

He nodded, slightly.

"You had better be satisfied," he said, "This is worth more birthdays than you're ever going to have."

And that was all. Doffy turned to leave.

Rosinante let him take exactly two and a half steps, before he was on top of him.

The squawk of surprise was probably the most undignified noise his proud brother would ever make, but Rosinante didn't even care to savor it. Didn't even care that he'd knocked them both down like a stack of bricks. His smile was so wide it ached and when Doffy whipped around, face beet-red, he grabbed him into a hug for the first time in almost eighteen years.

"Thank you," he said, "Thank you, thank you, Doffy."

It was kind of amazing how instantly his heart lost all its weight, chains snapping, soaring upwards with dizzying speed. It cast aside all the horrors of the past few years, dismissed them as bad dreams. It thought again and again that if his brother could agree to let this go...even something like _this_ then...then perhaps he could let the rest go too - the anger, the cruelty, the obsessive grudge against the world.

 _Maybe._ It kept booming. _Maybe maybe._

For a minute, Doffy did nothing, only sat there with arms hanging at his sides. But gradually, Rosinante felt him shift and the heat of a hand press to the middle of his back, the other to his shoulder blade. His brother's chin rested against the crown of his head.

"You're hopeless."

All Rosinante heard was the flutter of wings.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _What do you think you're doing?_

Doflamingo failed for a seventh time to dispel the voice, as Rosi dragged him down the hall towards the washrooms. Crew members barely glanced over, scooting or ducking around them with habitual ease. Lao G inquired on what they were doing as he passed, an offhand question he didn't sound particularly interested in getting answered, even though Doflamingo had been asking himself the same thing over and over again.

 _You have all this freedom now to do whatever you want and you're just going to..._

 _...just going to_ _ **let**_ _..._

Doflamingo narrowed his eyes, breathed through his nose. He wiped his arms and hands clean and watched red water swirl and suck down the drain.

"I'm so glad," Rosi was still babbling, as if he were half in disbelief himself, "I thought that—I didn't—"

He was fiddling with the washcloth in his hand instead of using it, picking apart the threads with slightly trembling hands and the blood on his face was driving Doflamingo crazy.

He finally walked over and took the cloth away, murmured "Don't move" and cleaned up his brother himself, scrubbed until there wasn't a drop of blood remaining. Rosi stood motionless until he was done, startled, his bangs in disarray by the end. Doflamingo didn't even think before reaching out to brush them out of his eyes.

God, it was a mistake.

The gentleness in Rosi's expression made him want to shrink away, the pure hope and expectation of it. It made Doflamingo feel sick and hollow and desolate somehow, made his mouth go dry and his skin prickle.

"What's wrong?" his brother said, and touched his own face, "Did you get it all off?"

Doflamingo returned to the sinks, tossed the soiled towel into the basin.

"Doffy?"

"Yes," he said, and pressed his palms flat upon the porcelain edges, leaned against it for a minute staring at his own reflection. His brother's shadow stood in puzzlement behind him.

Doflamingo took another breath. He told himself this was a gift. Only a gift. This was what Rosi had wanted and he had the obligation. He had the job. The duty. The role his mother had reminded him of endlessly and endlessly. Rosi was blood. Rosi was family. Rosi was _his._ He had to make him happy.

Even if he didn't feel like forgiving anyone. Or letting go of anything.

"Rosi," he said, turning around, "I…"

 _can't_

 _can't_

 _can't_

"…didn't mean to."

He gestured at his brother's face, his nose and eyes. "I didn't mean to."

Rosi blinked and shrugged.

"I know. It's okay."

He smiled and Rosi had never smiled at him in that way before.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"You're going back _where?_ "

The Den Den Mushi's mouth pursed into a steely, disapproving line. Rosinante crouched lower over the snail, trying to muffle the volume with his body.

"It's the only option, sir."

Sengoku sighed. "To save that boy, yes, but you should consider what the repercussions could be for yourself. Returning to such a place after what happened."

"I have. I'll be alright."

"You won't know that until you're standing at the gates," Sengoku said simply, "What is it even you hope to find?"

Rosinante hesitated. Doffy had told him about the ludicrous bounty the Marines had been offering for the Ope Ope no Mi - a proposition he was aware only ever happened for the deadliest or most powerful of Devil Fruits. Rosinante knew his commander would have ordered its retrieval if he'd told him the truth then, all personal feelings aside. His was a position that dealt in the balance of lives, that had to think always in terms of the greater good. Rosinante supposed it was what made him the strongest man he knew.

"There's…a plant, sir. A special herb that grows in the woods. It's said to have healing abilities."

Sengoku's stare was unblinking and Rosinante forced himself not to waver. He'd eliminated a lot of the nervous tics and twitches he'd had as a child just to take on this mission, but Sengoku was long-attuned to all of them - even the most microscopic signs of deception. The scrutiny dragged on for countless minutes, before he finally nodded.

"I see."

Rosinante nodded too, had to take care not to look down at his shoes in guilt or stiffen at Sengoku's next words.

"He should not be returning there either, you know. Especially him."

"He wouldn't let me go alone."

"It's dangerous."

"The North Blue's calmer in the summers."

"You know what I mean, Rosinante." There was a clatter on the other end, as if Sengoku had taken off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "The kind of rage Doflamingo carries, the temper and personality. Do you really think a person like him can move on? You're playing with fire here."

Rosinante's lips pressed flat.

"...He promised he wouldn't. He gave me his word."

"What could his word possibly be worth, boy?"

"Everything," Rosinante said, fingers tightening on the speaker piece, "You don't understand. He's my brother. I believe him."

His tone had lapsed, bordering on curtness, but no reprimand came. The snail bearing Sengoku's eyes regarded him quietly.

"…Son, I want you to listen to me for a moment, alright? All hats off."

Rosinante blinked. "All hats off" was their way of speaking personally, on a level removed from the mission and the Marines, not as superior and subordinate but father and son. Reluctance coiled in the pit of Rosinante's belly.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

But there was still a minute or two of silence. A short and tired breath.

"I know you love him," his father said, "I know that for a while, in a lot of ways, he was all you had. And I'm not trying to cause you pain, son, I'm really not, but...he cannot change. He can't."

Rosinante's lips parted, but Sengoku pressed on immediately. Firmly and steadily.

"You were raised by the same parents. You suffered the same anguish. Think about how differently the two of you turned out. Think about the things he's done, all his atrocities and terrors, and the person he's become. He can make his excuses, blame society, Mariejois, the world, but the fact stands that _everything_ up to now has been his own choice."

He paused then, as if expecting Rosinante to retort. When he only sat there blankly, Sengoku continued.

"Do you remember what you use to say about your brother, Rosinante? As a boy?"

 _Yes._

"No," Rosinante croaked, "And whatever it was, I was wrong."

"Were you?" Sengoku's voice softened. "You said he was missing something. That there was a hole inside him right at the center. I think you knew very well who he was, son. Even then. I think you know still."

"Sir, I-"

"You can't save him, Rosinante. I'm sorry it took me this long to say, but you can't. Someone like him…you can't put together someone like him. There aren't any pieces left to find."

"Sir—"

"I know you want to think there was a reason. The executives, that island. I know you want to think something broke him apart inside. But nothing could have, Rosinante. Nothing did, because he was already—"

"With all due respect," Rosinante said. Loudly. The plainest of insubordination. His voice quivered.

"W-With all due respect, sir, you don't know what happened on that island. What happened to him...what happened to _us._ You don't know. You _can't_ know. So please, just..."

The end of the line was abrupt, the last lump of unidentifiable words dying on his tongue. He'd had no further goal in mind than to stop Sengoku from speaking. Because he'd felt the shape of his words, felt them and couldn't bear them, and shoved them away.

Maybe just a few months ago, he wouldn't have. Maybe even a week ago, he would've finally fallen off that cusp and agreed.

But that was then and this was now and hope was a terrible thing.

"He's my brother," Rosinante whispered, "He's what I have. He's the one I got. Don't ask me to bury him. Please."

The Den Den Mushi only stared at him, like it had never seen a sadder thing in its life. Sengoku said nothing more.

* * *

xxx

* * *

They told Law later that evening.

The boy's enthusiasm was lukewarm at best, but whatever it lacked, his brother made up for tenfold. He'd plucked the child right out of the chair he'd been reading in and spun him around in circles, knocking all sorts of shit over in the process while Law yelled at him to calm down.

Doflamingo watched, leaned up against the jamb. He noticed sporadic little things, like how thin the boy had gotten, how yellowish pale, and the white blotches on his uncovered skin which had multiplied by dozens within the span of a few months. The look Law gave him when he explained about the Ope Ope no Mi was wholeheartedly surprised, a slip in composure he couldn't quite regain.

He'd been expecting to die.

Doflamingo wanted to leave. He wanted a drink and his head had begun to hurt and he took the opportunity, when Rosi asked Law if he wanted go sit out on deck, to try and slink away.

Something dragged on the end of his coat.

Law's golden eyes stared up at him, inscrutable. Doffy's brow rose. He glanced at his brother, who shrugged.

"...What?"

"I'll walk," the boy said, not especially addressing either of them and then Doflamingo found himself being towed into the hall for the second time that day.

* * *

xxx

* * *

In the end, he wound up on deck too, resting against the guardrail beside Rosi while Law sat between them, tiny feet hanging motionless over spuming waves.

"Tell me what else is out there," he said, "On the Grand Line."

Brat didn't even say 'please.'

"What are _you_ looking at me for?" Doflamingo snapped, when his brother also blinked at him expectantly, "You've been to the same places. How about you tell him?"

"No way," Rosi and Law said, in perfect sync, without even looking at each other.

"This kid asks too many questions."

"Which you never give me any answers to."

"It's a story, Law. Why can't you just sit tight and listen?"

"What's the point of a story if you can't ask questions?" Law said, and crossed his arms. He regarded Doflamingo frostily, rather hatefully for the compliment that came out of his mouth a second later.

"You tell them better anyway."

Rosi's jaw nearly hit the deck. Doflamingo guffawed before he could help himself. It was no secret to anyone which of them was Law's favorite, so maybe Doflamingo did feel a tad smug then.

Maybe not even a tad.

He smirked and folded his arms over the railing. "Since when did you learn how to butter people up?"

Law rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted pink (and since when did he learn to do any of those things either?) while Rosi slumped down further, half-hanging off the bars, and grumbled about the insensitivity of children.

The moon layered the ship in silvers and blues. The wind collected salt in their hair and there were birds calling, darting along the sails and lines-small, white-gray creatures that reminded him a bit of Law or Baby Five. It was not such a bad night, weaving tales about the sea, watching Rosi laugh at whatever sardonic comments the kid would make. It should've been enough. Truly.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _But it wasn't, was it?_


	13. tenebrae

**tenebrae - "darkness"**

* * *

He'd read once that a day in the world was a hundred years in Hell. Doflamingo supposed that must've been true.

Because it took only ten days to reach the North Blue and each one was a black and burning century.

 _Someone must pay._ A boy whispered in the planes of his dreams, wreathed in smoke and soaked in tears. The arrow still stuck in the left eye. _Anyone. Everyone._

 _Don't let this lie._

* * *

xxx

* * *

He drank wine. He rifled for sleeping pills in the med-bay. He smoked more cartons than Rosi and Senor Pink combined.

He tried. He tried. He tried.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo remembered the mob. Funny that the things he didn't particularly want to forget slipped through him like water and sieve, while the mob weighed at the bottom effortlessly, as if debris that long-festered and never broke down.

Some of the faces he could draw out in his mind's eye with inexplicable detail. This one with the balding top, that one covered in moles, this one with a narrow mouth, that one missing two of his front teeth. A woman had stood exactly six feet away, while his father screamed for mercy and damn near strangled him in his grip. She'd had a frayed shawl and green eyes and dirty nails that clutched a rusted sword.

When the blindfolds had been tied on, he remembered the sounds and when the cacophony had risen to a deafening height, he remembered the stenches. This one with the sob story of sons plugged full of lead and that one whose hands stunk of a barn as they slammed him into the wall and strung him up in the air.

All of them peasants, _garbage, refuse._

Paying no price.

 _Getting away._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The vessels in his right eye burst immediately after a third night without sleep. It had never looked so grisly before. Doflamingo stared into his mirror, picked at his nails and waited for the sun to rise.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He use to be fascinated with fire as a child. The altering colors, the roar and swelter, how it could reduce even the biggest, most unbelievable things in existence to crumbling brown soot. One of his father's more impressive colleagues, Saint Blackwood, had bought him a toy soldier once, jeweled with rubies and opals, holding a torch and saber. A gas switch on the back could be flipped, igniting the torch with real flames.

 _"A god must embrace his power,"_ Saint Blackwood had said, quietly, just between the two of them when his father's back was turned, _"Because a thing not oft used will fade."_

Doflamingo hardly understood what he meant, but the toy was a blast. He set fire to the flowers in the garden, the curtains of his room and the long braid of a slave's hair, before his mother took it away. She would not return it no matter how he screamed or stomped his feet. It was the last he'd seen of the thing. Maybe he would've fixated longer, but then Rosi started stringing coherent sentences together and wobbling around after him and he got preoccupied.

He'd forgotten all about the toy and Saint Blackwood until the moment his face had been shoved within a lick of an open flame years later. Voices shouted over him that they were going to burn out his eyes, melt his nose and incinerate all his golden, rich boy hair. Then Doflamingo remembered.

And not only did he remember, he understood.

"None of you embraced it."

Rosi arched a brow, set down a glass of water for him. "What are you talking about?"

He picked at his nails, looked at the glass.

"I didn't ask for water."

"I'm not getting you any more wine. You're dehydrated."

More silence.

"It's not fair."

Rosi knelt down in front of his chair. "What are you talking about, Doffy?" he said again, softer. Worried.

Doflamingo frowned. "It wasn't my fault."

"What wasn't? Your hands are shaking again, are you getting enough sleep?

"Rosi," Doflamingo said, tilting his gaze, "Do you remember Saint Blackwood?"

He didn't think his brother would. Rosi had been so young that Mariejois was probably a smear of sunlight in his memory. Doflamingo had no expectations of him and yet still felt bottomlessly disappointed when Rosi stared and shook his head. He pulled Doflamingo's hands apart and pressed the water glass into them instead.

"No, and neither should you."

As if it were so easy.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He smashed his mirror on the fourth night, after fumbling awake and mistaking his own reflection for a swinging crowbar.

Doflamingo stood amongst the carpet of shards, gasping for breath, sweat icing down his neck and temples. _Seven years of bad luck,_ he thought absurdly, _seven years or seven seconds or seven hours or seven centuries._ Blood plipped from his wrist onto the floor. Law would follow him around everywhere the next day until he let him bandage it.

 _You,_ a voice whispered from the corners of his room, _cannot change._

 _You cannot hope to change._

 _So why try?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

There was someone who'd worn plastic sandals. He remembered that. Despite the blindfold and his dangling legs and the pandemonium of bawling and shrieking and whooping as they hung on display like meat for sacrifice, there was the distinctive sound of heels slapping against stone. Someone rushing around in noisy shoes.

 _Click click click Click_

"I got this for the runts," Senor Pink said on the fifth day, returned from the town market where they were restocking, "Just an old trinket I thought they'd like. Russian has one at home for Gimlet."

He held it up for Doflamingo to stare at. Baby Five and Buffalo clambered onto the chair for a better look, while Law stood more sedately at his knee.

The music box was a size fit for a child's hand, ornately painted landscapes of moors, turtle doves and cranes lined the lid and sides. There was a latch inside with a plated screen beneath, where the revolving cylinder could be seen turning, the pins plucking teeth along the rolling steel comb. It was a pretty song, a lilting hymn about the benign waters of the Calm Belt, which lasted about three and a half minutes. Then the cylinder slowed down, needed rewinding as it stuttered to a halt on a slightly corroded spring.

 _Click click Click_

Doflamingo watched Baby Five throw herself onto Senor Pink's waist, hugging him tightly while Buffalo and even Law looked entranced. He watched them sit around listening to the box in their spare time that day and heard it bang against his skull that night.

His fists trembled. Doflamingo didn't recall leaving his room or entering the lounge where the toy sat on a table, silhouetted under a filtered beam of moonlight. It wasn't running, but he could hear it as if it were.

 _click Click Click_

(He hadn't meant to break it.)

But it broke with horrendous ease. Wood splintered, glass cracked, the metallic innards spilled out and pieces rolling under the couch. Doflamingo stared at the mess for a long beat, before casting out his strings, gathering the mangled parts and tossing them into the ocean.

Baby Five cried for literal hours come morning, sobbing into Jora's lap while Buffalo threw crazed accusations at Law for the box's disappearance until Law began shouting back. It was ear-shattering ruckus and Doflamingo was nursing a migraine by the end, but he would rather Baby Five cry herself blind and a thousand migraines than listen to that spring stutter and 'click' one more time.

 _And whose shoes were those anyway?_

 _Didn't matter._

 _ **They were getting away.**_

* * *

xxx

* * *

"You're going to rip out your nails," Rosi said and pulled down his hand, inspecting the bloodied fingers with care. "Doffy, what have you been doing?"

 _What do you think?_ Doflamingo shrugged and watched his brother fret and spill too much disinfectant on them.

"Stay here. I'll get Law."

 _This is your fault, isn't it?_

"Doffy?" Rosi was hovering over his chair again. "Did you hear me?"

He wouldn't leave until Doflamingo nodded and even then he lingered, looking concerned and completely confused.

"Stay here," he repeated and hurried off.

Doflamingo stared after him and thought, blankly and suddenly, _How could you do this to me?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

He never asked for this. Not any of it.

He came from a place where pearls bobbed in the fountains, where streets were paved in gold. He was a god for the sole reason of the ambrosia in his veins.

He didn't want to leave. He had no desire to learn. He didn't know how to change and _why should he have?_

What had his father hoped to accomplish down here, following his thrice-damned notion of "living like a human?" To this day, Doflamingo saw red when he thought about it. Whatever world his father had been pursuing didn't exist. There was no other conclusion. Twenty years he'd endured in this hell hole and he'd yet to find a shred of the peace his father had promised or the fulfillment. The man had brought them down here to _suffer_ and Doflamingo couldn't stop HATING HIM HATING HIM HATING HIM.

And sometimes, in these particular moments when his mind fizzled from lack of sleep and he thought himself into corners, it really annoyed him that Rosi didn't.

He wanted more and more in the past six days to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake the sense into him. He wanted to scream at Rosi to wake up, that nothing was sacred - not life, not innocence and certainly not the words of their naive and foolish father.

Because that _must_ be why Rosi was doing this to him right?

Because he was so enamored with Father's moronic ideals. The same ones that made Doflamingo so obliteratingly angry he couldn't see straight.

But he wouldn't blame Rosi. His little brother didn't know any better. He'd always been impressionable, trusting, soft, weak and Doflamingo knew he mustn't be mad at him. It wasn't his fault. Rosi didn't know better.

 _So why listen?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Nene, why the long face, Corazón?"

Trebol loomed deliberately, casting a shadow as his bare feet left a splattered trail behind him. He'd managed to cram a velvet fedora onto his head, stretching the delicate brim like a melon about to burst. Rosinante recognized it suddenly as the one he'd been wearing when they'd first encountered him all those years ago and his skin began to crawl.

The man had received Doffy's orders on sparing the island with unnerving tranquility, barely uttering a word despite how Diamante and even Pica voiced their confusion. He spent the entire meeting staring at Rosinante and then half the journey stalking him about the ship, oozing after him like an unwanted shadow. It was inexplicable, not to mention creepy, but Rosinante honestly couldn't have cared less. Better him than the kids. Or Doffy, who'd gotten really quiet and haggard over the past few days and was worrying him.

"Get lost," he said, lit cigarette smoldering.

"Behehe, you really are so ill-bred." Trebol smiled. "Interesting that Doffy spent those fourteen years climbing to the top of the pirate world, while you were apparently baying at the moon. Oh, what scary, scary eyes. Did I hit a nerve? Do I need correction? Where _did_ you spend them then?"

Rosinante took a slow drag from his cigarette, leaning back against the wall. He ignored the questions and Trebol's face suddenly darkened, the smile dripping off.

"You think you know him?" he growled, "You haven't a clue."

Rosinante released a cloud of smoke. He didn't bat an eye.

"Neither, as it seems, do you."

He watched Trebol's knuckles whiten, curled around the jeweled head of his cane. Four more days, he thought. Let this be done.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("I knew we should've killed him."

Diamante and Pica trailed their gazes to Trebol, who hunkered in his seat, fingers laced and eyes hooded behind coke-bottle glasses.

"When Doffy had gone to Mariejois and he was alone. Should have _strangled_ the little shit and left the body in a ditch somewhere. Blamed it on the mob."

"How about you relax," Diamante hissed, gaze swinging to the closed door, the walls, like he expected Doflamingo to come exploding through either one at any second, "Yeah, the fucker's a buzz kill, but he's also...well, I'm not gonna touch him now, Trebol. Not for anything. Doffy would...ugh, gives me fucking chills to think about."

They paused, unable to avoid that wayward shudder that swept through the room, red-tinted by a gutted sky. The ship swayed and dipped. The floors rattled.

Trebol smoothed away fear with indignation, snuffling, "He's been ruining Doffy for years. Ruining _us._ He shouldn't be here."

"Doffy makes the rules," Pica said, the rusted nail pitch of his voice dragging through the air, "If it's a fair deal he wants, we bring him the money. If it's a hit, we bring him the blood. Corazón makes no difference. He wants him here, so he's here. I've got no quarrel with that."

"You should." Trebol leaned against his cane. "Blood doesn't make you loyal."

The pause was twice as tense this time. Diamante's head jerked again towards the door. His slit eyes narrowed further.

"...what do you mean?"

But it was only the pretense of a question. None of them were expecting Trebol to reply. They could get away with a lot as family executives, but accusations of _that_ kind, particularly without basis...Doflamingo had no tolerance for. Trebol knew this well. He was the one after all who'd planted the seed in his head as a boy, who'd buried it deep, deep somewhere in the flaming abyss of Doflamingo's mind. Betrayal's cost was a pound of flesh. Forgiveness the kiss of death.

So Trebol would not utter the words now either, not even with just the shadows to hear them.

He had a feeling the stars were on his side anyway. Corazón had forfeited every right to his brother the day he'd gone off and vanished.

And Trebol still knew his king. He had seen it for himself - the hunger, the fury, the giant black _beautiful_ pit in his heart that Trebol sought to insure no light would ever reach.

He'd never forgotten that day, now almost eighteen years past, when Doflamingo had took the mirror from his hand and could only laugh at what reflected back at him - the filthy, blood-matted boy devoid of home, family or eye. He'd never forgotten that sound, like stars shattering and worlds ending - that glimpse of true greatness (and madness, though the terms hardly bore a difference) which made Trebol certain he would never follow anyone else again.

A creation like Doflamingo rarely needed steering. Sometimes Trebol gave him a nudge forward, sometimes others pulled him back, but he never failed to return to the wrecked and withered path all on his own. In this, Trebol saw destiny.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

He dreamed of fleeing through the rain. The pound of his parents' footsteps behind him, the distant echo of the mob further down. His lungs burned. His legs trembled. He tripped and fell in the mud. Sticky and gloppy and reeking, caked up his front, smeared on his knees and his hands.

 _ **beneath his glasses under his nails over his neck in his ears in his shoes in his hair in his nerves in his heart**_

His brother crouched in front of him. Eyes wide, little mouth quivering.

"Brother?" he choked and Doflamingo pulled away.

"You mustn't touch, Rosi."

Rosi bit his lip. He shook his head hard, chin wrinkled. He reached for him and took his arms in shaking hands. He tugged and strained, but the mud wouldn't budge, encasing Doflamingo up to his waist.

"Let's go," Rosi whimpered, as the darkness gathered around them, "Come with me, please."

 _Please._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Doffy."

Doflamingo tugged at his newly bandaged fingers, gaze drifting from the moonlit waves to the cabin doorway.

"Hm, I was wondering where you'd gone off to," he murmured, when he saw the lurching figure standing there, blocking out the entire threshold, "Finally come to complain?"

Trebol snickered and slithering over to the rail. He placed his hands on the bars where Law had perched more than a week ago and within seconds covered them with slime.

"Not at all. You aren't going to change your mind anyway, are you?"

Doflamingo looked down at his hands, fidgeted for a second, before he stuffed them into his pockets. He turned back to the dark horizon, where mountains sat hulking like fallen giants.

He said softly, "No."

Trebol nodded. "For your brother. I understand."

"Do you?"

"Behe, well, you already know he's not my favorite person in the world." Trebol pulled his cane up, resting it in front of him and against the metal. "But you want to make him happy. As expected of a king to be both mighty and generous."

Doflamingo stared, feeling faintly surprised and borderline comforted. The edge of his lips curved just a bit and he leaned more casually against the rail. They stood in silence for several minutes.

Then Trebol said, "Ne, why do you want to please him so badly, Doffy? If I may ask."

Doflamingo tilted his head. "Why? Because he's my brother." The answer could not have been simpler.

"Yes, but _why?_ Does it fill you up somehow? Does it make _you_ happy?"

A scowl wormed his face. His hands fisted in his pockets.

"...Do I need a reason like that?"

"Well, if you're going to such lengths...but never mind, I'll let you decide." Trebol shifted, the manacles on his ankles clinking. "To be honest, I've been thinking about Corazón recently. I'm afraid I might have been a liiitle harsh in my initial opinion. He is an unfortunate fellow. I recognize that now. It really is something to be pitied."

Beneath his glasses, Doflamingo's right eye slid towards Trebol.

"What is?"

"His lot. You were chosen by the stars, blessed with the most powerful haki known to man, while Corazón can't walk in a straight line on a good day. And what a meek boy he was, if I recall. Hard to imagine how he would've fared without you back then."

Doflamingo scoffed tiredly, imagining all the ways Rosi could've gotten himself killed as a child on his own. He'd been so small, so easy.

"Only one of those things has changed, hasn't it?"

Trebol sidled closer and Doflamingo blinked, feeling a little dazed. He hadn't even realized he'd spoken the thought out loud.

"He'll never open his eyes and he'll never recognize this place for what it is. All his decisions, everything he asks, will always be foolish. Blind in some capacity. He isn't like you, Doffy, and he doesn't have a chance in the world. Wouldn't you agree?"

At some point, Doflamingo had pulled out his hands again. He scratched at the bandages, lips pursing for a beat, before whispering, "Just like Father."

"Poor, ill-fated thing," Trebol said and Doflamingo's chest swelled with an odd mix of dread and fury.

"What am I supposed to do? It's who he is."

"Behe, good question. How _do_ you keep a bird from flying amuck and bashing its own head in on something?" For a moment, Trebol went quiet and Doflamingo almost flared up with agitation, before he spoke again.

"I suppose you keep it caged, don't you? And ignore its twittering."

* * *

xxx

* * *

He dreamed of revenge. Arcs of red that stained the clouds. Smoke so staggering and tall it choked apart Heaven.

Low-grade trash screamed and thrashed _(this one with the balding top, that one covered in moles.)_ They died and died and he felt whole. Complete for the first time in his life.

 _Don't let this lie._ The boy turned, black glasses gleaming, butterfly snatched between two fingers and a spider web looming behind him. The threads grew long and rangy, pushed upwards into a vast dome and extended down into rods. _Don't let this lie._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Young Master, are you okay?"

Doflamingo jolted when a small hand touched his. Baby Five's large eyes blinked up at him. She leaned against his thigh, reached to touch his face.

"You're sweating."

He stood up and Baby Five yelped, nearly knocked to the floor. Doflamingo stared down at her, felt his lips turning and he smiled vacantly. "I'm okay, Baby."

Beads of moisture fell from his chin. She did not look like she believed him.

"Should I get Cora-san?"

"No." Doflamingo took a single step in front of her, blocking the path to the door. "No, no, no, silly girl, don't do that."

Baby Five shrunk slightly, wide eyes startled and Doflamingo forced himself to soften his voice.

"It's okay. Really." He squatted down, tucked the hair out of the child's face, and when her forehead creased and she seemed uneasy, he said, "I'm feeling a little parched right now. Would you mind getting me some tea?"

Baby Five's expression lit up, bright as a firecracker.

"Of course, Young Master!" she said and Doflamingo smiled back, standing to let her scamper out. Her hair was tied with a new satin ribbon, he noticed, just before she disappeared from view. It was yellow as sunlight. Gold as the bars of a cage.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _This one._

He stood in a square of bodies. The boy had stepped between sprawled limbs, bending down to examine each face. He pointed at a particular man, unconscious on his back. The features were unremarkable - brown hair, thin mustache, sunken eyes.

 _This one._

A bow lay a few inches from his hand. A quiver of spilled arrows strapped to the man's shoulder.

 _This one._

* * *

xxx

* * *

At dawn on the ninth day, Vergo called. Doflamingo listened quietly.

Law walked in an hour after they'd hung up. Boy just didn't knock. Never would.

"What are you doing?"

Doflamingo leaned back in his chair and raised his hand over his face. The strings running from his palm glimmered, crossing each other in a lattice and elongating into vertical coils as he crooked his fingers. He smiled thinly.

"A little experimenting."

Law stared for a second, holding the edge of the jamb, before shuffling over. He walked around the desk, stood in front of Doflamingo with flinty eyes. His head was barely level with Doflamingo's knee. There was a white spot developing on his left cheek.

"You tore through your bandages."

Doflamingo cast a minute glance at his hand, saw it was so.

"It's fine."

"No, it isn't." There was a 'clack' as Law set a med-kit down on the desk. His face was pinched. "Give me your hand."

He didn't wait and reached out for it himself. Doflamingo had to quickly snap apart the flesh-shearing threads, before the child could try to curtain them aside. Law re-wrapped his fingertips with strange care, his brows scrunched into knots of concentration. Doflamingo stared at the top of his hat, wordless, and it was Law who broke the silence first. Suddenly and bluntly.

"Did something happen on that island?"

Doflamingo restrained himself from shoving the boy back. "What gave you that idea?"

"Cora-san keeps avoiding the subject whenever I ask. Either that, or he tries to deny it. He's a terrible liar if you know what to look for," Law muttered, lifting his head to stare at him, "And you've been acting weird. _Weirder._ "

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed. "And _you're_ a lot less cute than you use to-"

"I don't want to go."

The boy wrapped up the remaining gauze and packed it into the kit, buckling the clasps neatly. Doflamingo's glare smoothed out.

"...What?"

"I don't want to go," Law said, "If something happened there, if it's gonna change things, then I'd rather just die."

They stared at each other. It must've been the first time Law had ever voiced his desires on anything and Doflamingo tilted his head. Some feeling was trying to grope its desperate way to the surface of him. It failed, grew lost in the dark and perished. Doflamingo's expression faded from bewilderment, his mouth flattening.

"You're not making sense, boy," he said and stood. Law was too surprised to utter a word, when Doflamingo picked him up and deposited him in the hallway.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Some things cannot be changed. You realize that now, at last._

 _Not the sun or the moon. Not the inclination of the stars. Not the past. Not time._

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the tenth day, they arrived on the island. Eighteen years had not helped it flourish. It was still cracked earth and makeshift hovels, crusty hills and slabs of uneven road. A bit more greenery adorned the landscape than before, more trees and healthier grass, less dried brush and landfill, as if the town had exerted a half-hearted effort at some point to make itself presentable but failed. There was still no dock so they anchored near the rocky shore, the ship swaying behind a massive outcropping.

Doflamingo pointed out the route which his brother should take and the cave where the fruit had supposedly been buried.

"I'll wait here with the rest," he told Rosi, "Head hurts."

"Don't drink," his brother said, not even trying to hide his concern anymore, "I'm serious, Doffy."

He flapped his hand. They stood there for a moment though, together in the sand, the wind and dust sifting through their coats, ghosts sinking teeth into throbbing old scars.

An errant chuckle slipped through Doflamingo.

"Home sweet home."

Rosi gave him a hard look.

"You're not funny," he said and walked away from him, heading down the inland trail.

* * *

xxx

* * *

And those were the last words Rosinante said to his brother. The one he had known. The one he had loved.

Because the thing he returned to would not be Doffy anymore or ever again.

You're not funny.

* * *

xxx

* * *

There was one final moment where he tried.

Doflamingo strolled down the craggy beach - Diamante, Pica and Trebol several feet behind, waxing their own nostalgia. The ship was close enough that he could hear Gladius yelling at Baby Five and Buffalo to settle down and swab the floors like they were suppose to. He thought he could see the dark skinny form of Law on the quarterdeck, staring at him.

The island had almost felt deserted. Perhaps if Doflamingo had not encountered the man when he had, he would've felt it hadn't been worth it after all. Perhaps he would've gone back to the ship and waited for his brother's return like he'd promised.

Perhaps and yet...

"Not from around here, are ya?"

The hair was no longer a single strand of brown, but a shade of deep and thorough white. The mustache was gone, but the eyes were still sunken. A quiver of arrows hung off a shoulder, the bow across an old and shriveled chest. There was a boy clinging to his robe, head craned towards Doflamingo in blatant awe.

He turned fully. They both flinched in shock at the size of him, how his shadow spread across them like a cloak. The old man's hand went grasping for his bow.

"I...I've seen yer ship's flag before. Recognized it from the news. This is just a poor island town. What business could yer kind have with us?"

Doflamingo was silent. His lips parted, curling back to show straight pearly teeth and bright red gums. He did something then he'd never do again and took off his glasses under the broad daylight. There was a sharp inhale of breath from the man and child, a sound that got caught in the back of their mouths, as if they couldn't have helped themselves.

"God, son, your eye," the old man whispered, horror plain in the lines of his face, "What happened to your eye?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _And not monsters._


	14. monstrum, monstrum

**monstrum, monstrum - "monster, monster"**

* * *

 _At dawn on the ninth day, Vergo called._

 _"I'm sorry, Doffy, there's been a mistake."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

The fruit wasn't there.

Rosinante searched every inch of the cave, shining the sickly column of lantern-light across uneven walls. Though it was a relatively spacious area, the tip of Rosinante's hair brushed the ceiling and the air sat stale and soupy. His hands skittered across damp soil and limestone. He re-checked the map at least six times and dug two giant holes, striking bedrock twice, before dropping his shovel.

Something was wrong.

He fought against the dread trying to pool inside his mind, roping it off, and told himself it was an old map, subject to inaccuracies and maybe...maybe his brother had gotten tricked. Maybe there'd been a mistake.

Rosinante rummaged for his smokes in hopes of silencing his nerves, but only turned up the lint in his pockets. _Forget it forget it,_ he thought and exited the cave at a clip, leaving the shovel behind. So the fruit wasn't here, they would find it again. He should just focus on returning to the ship as quickly as possible. The sooner they departed the better.

He'd walked for about half a mile, still wishing he at least had a stick to chew on when he smelled the smoke. Saw the black pluming clouds piling and belching into the sky in the far-off distance, where the messily tiled path he was on wound back into town.

Rosinante went cold. His vision tunneled. He broke into a sprint even though he couldn't feel his legs, flying back to his feet when he fell and skinned the flesh off his knees. He didn't think about cigarettes again. He didn't think about anything again. No thoughts, save a handful of words on a single infernal loop.

 _no no no_

 _Doffy you promised_

 _no_

* * *

xxx

* * *

A new garden had been planted in the square - a modest hexagonal plot, smelling sweet of petrichor, where jade leaves shadowed the delicate faces of peonies, orchids and gladioli. White rose bushes rimmed the perimeter, all the stems pruned and the petals beaded with morning dew. It was a dainty centerpiece, jarring against the derelict condition of the buildings, and was kept with obvious and utmost care - as if every dreg of nourishment and tenderness in this town had been poured into this fragile little spot.

Somewhere behind Doflamingo there were whimpers. Beseechings from huddled women _("please leave it alone, sir please please"),_ muffled by the sharp crack of surrounding fire, the sharper crack of Diamante's sword as he struck the ground and drew half-swallowed screams.

"Nene, watch this, Doffy," Trebol whispered and uncapped the head of his cane to reveal a long, fat wick. He dragged it against the ground, lighting it ablaze. Gray slime exuded from his arms, dribbled forward in viscous tendrils and flowed into the garden, weighing down thin branches, forming airless prisons over beautiful fields of color. Diamante snickered.

With a swipe of Trebol's arm, the mucous was ablaze. Flames blossomed in the reflection of Doflamingo's glasses, billowing across grass, erupting like weeds. It consumed the entire plot within three and a half seconds and rocketed up and up and up.

Someone began wailing. Softly.

"Bet you didn't know I could do that," Trebol said, "Surprised you, didn't I, Doffy? Didn't I?"

"I want it higher," Doflamingo said softly and Trebol preened as if this were the pinnacle of praise.

"Of course, of course, consider it done."

Doflamingo looked away, towards the winding path out of town. He readjusted his grip on the body that hung from his hand. The old man was still making a feeble attempt at struggling, cursing him with shaky gulps of breath _("bastard, demon, devil_ _ **devil,**_ _you won't get away with this, never, just wait, you'll pay what yer due...")_

Within seconds, Trebol was fuming. Doflamingo halted his cane before it could cave in the man's head.

He lifted the body by the collar, stared into the baffled, sunken eyes. Such righteous fury, such fucking principle. Paper tigers guarding pasty-white terror. Doflamingo's hand shook, though his voice remained deathly still.

"You're the only ones," he said, "paying dues today."

* * *

xxx

* * *

There were corpses at the entrance of the town. A man that had been shielding two women. All three were covered in ash and riddled with bullet holes. Gladius was reloading, lead slugs plinking as they tumbled across his gloves. He looked up, saw Rosinante and froze.

"Corazón," he said after a moment, eyes concealed by opaque goggles, "Did you find the fruit?"

A few feet further down, Machvise floated over a hut and smashed into it from on high, bellowing "In-NNNNN-coming!" The roof collapsed like paper-mache and the windows exploded in a shelling of glass. The entire house vanished under mushrooms of dust and whether it had been inhabited or not, no one ever crawled from the wreckage. They could hear Machvise chortle and ask Gladius if he'd caught his pun. He called out a second time when Gladius didn't answer and finally trudged out of the cloud, arms and legs pin-cushioned with wood chips. His grin evaporated when he saw them.

"...Corazón?"

"Where is he?" Rosinante said, simply, "Tell me where he is. Now."

They exchanged glances, stared at him and who knew if they were going to answer or not, when another voice did.

"In the square, last we saw."

Senor Pink walked out of the scrubby thickets, ejecting a magazine and crimped cigarette between his teeth. "Brats went back to the ship," he added out of nowhere, "Restocking ammunition."

Gladius and Machvise gave him odd looks. Rosinante glanced down the road, where distant screams punched through the air. Flickering patches of fire writhed and danced, eating a gleeful course through the dilapidated town. Another narrower, sandier path jutted off from the main one and led to the seashore. To Law.

"How could you do this?" Rosinante whispered, and Gladius, with the blank assumption that the question was directed their way, crossed his arms and shrugged.

"It's what the Young Master wants."

Rosinante didn't respond. He stood there a moment, utterly frozen, torn two separate ways, before hurrying down the path.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"Mistake? What mistake?"_

 _"One of the two-bits managed to survive. Got found and treated on site before I was notified, and then escaped after killing the medic. I had a squad track him down, but it seems he'd already gotten in contact with the crew they were originally planning to sell the map to."_

 _Doflamingo stared at the wall. "...And which crew would that be?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Lao G and Pica were on the beach, the latter's fists splattered with blood, the former just finishing snapping a man's neck and letting the body tumble into the sand. Their backs were turned and Rosinante slid past them without a word, before almost colliding full tilt into Jora.

"Corazón," she murmured and the name was starting to make him sick, spinning like a carousel in his head.

The pastels and neons of her Devil Fruit power swirled in the surrounding tide, abstracts of sharks and sea kings and tentacles. Things with too many eyes sliced through the water. Things with teeth and things that had suffocated under the Ato Ato no Mi's blazoning mural. Dismantled rowboats and drowned animals floated on the surface. Some of them people. All of them having attempted to swim from the island.

He looked at her and she did not look back.

"No one leaves," she said, "The Young Master forbids it."

"You'll kill them all?"

"No one leaves."

"Even the kids?"

Jora flinched. Her mouth, red and waxen with too much lipstick, opened and shut.

She didn't care a whit for men and had a venomous spite for mothers old and young - the majority of women in such an impoverished town. Such people she could murder with a smile, without a wink of lost sleep. She was a pile of splinters inside as well, just like the rest of the Family and it was not men or mothers that could move her, but-

"You don't understand. He's never been so..." her hands gestured wildly, meaninglessly, "He's very angry. Something about this place. You don't understand."

"Believe me," Rosinante said, "I do." And he walked past her towards the ship, steps numb, not halting even as Jora called after his retreating back.

"It's different this time. We can all feel it. You'll never talk him out of this one."

But he _had._ He had though. And he didn't know why this was...

The ice in Rosinante was closing into a noose in his chest, clenching around his heart.

Down it fell.

Down and down and down.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"Barrels. After their captain, Diez. Might ring a bell for you. He was trying to carve a spot for himself on the seas around the same time we were."_

 _Doflamingo arched a brow, bridging his hands. The name was familiar and, after rifling through his head a moment, summoned a ruddy face and grizzled beard to mind-brash voice, slightly slurred and jumbled from whiskey. Dull, arrogant eyes._

 _"Yes, that old bastard," Doflamingo muttered, lip curling, "What has he done?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

The ship was utterly deserted, all bodies having departed for the island and no one daring to straggle. Rosinante careened down the hall, clearing the stairs to the storage level in two long strides.

Guns clicked in the weapons gallery, full grenades being gathered into small, clumsy hands. Buffalo and Baby Five chittered at each other like birds, marvelling at the butterflies they'd seen, and the former speculating on what grand, unspeakable treasure was buried here that their young master wanted to kill everyone within range.

"I bet it's a new kind of rock," he said, "Y'know, like the stuff Law's town got rich off of. I caught part of the map Young Master showed Cora-san and there was this huge cave on it, y'know, with this weird ruby-looking thing drawn in. And I heard them talking a little (did you know Pica-san made a hole in the prow last time he was torturing someone around there? You can hear _everything_ through it) and they kept mentioning Law. I bet it's _just like_ Amber Lead, don't you?"

"I guess," Baby Five murmured, sounding distracted, "Buffalo...do you think the Young Master's okay?"

"Huh? Why wouldn't he be? He's the Young Master."

"No," Baby Five said, softly, and there was the muted creak of wood, as if she'd leaned her side against a crate. "His face...before everything started. It was scary. And so...mad. Like it wasn't him at all."

 _And never would be again._

Rosinante slammed the hatch shut, ignoring the surprised yelps from inside as the auto-locks slid into place. He ran, despite the frantic ramming and shotgun blasts that ensued from inside the gallery.

"Fuck," he whispered, almost blankly, " _Fuck._ "

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"Seems he was already in the North Blue at the time. Combed the island and got to the fruit first. He's recently contacted the Marines offering to sell it for five billion Beris."_

 _Doflamingo's eye twitched. "Shit."_

 _"Doffy, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"_

 _"It's alright," he said, not looking at the snail, "Mistakes happen."_

 _"Mistakes," Vergo muttered, and it was more to himself than anyone, like the word left a rancid taste behind, "What would you like me to do?"_

 _He went quiet a moment, turning over the question._

 _"...Accept the offer. I imagine he'll want to meet somewhere near for a trade-off. We'll just have our own little interception."_

 _"Understood."_

 _Another pause ensued. A question was hovering through the line, left on the cusp of unspoken. He twisted his strings, watched them snake and intersect, knotting closer and closer together, transforming into nooses and nets. Cages. Pain stabbed at his temples and he knew there was no point now with the fruit gone, that he ought to walk away at last. Ought to...have some pity and let the past go._

 _Just as Rosi had asked of him._

 _ **Poor, ill-fated thing.**_

 _The Den Den Mushi looked at him closely, as if it could see the color drain right out of his face._

 _"What's wrong, Doffy?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

He searched the ship almost top to bottom, before he'd gotten his head on straight enough to even think of checking the barracks. Law was curled up in his bunk, blinking awake weakly when Rosinante stumbled inside. He was pale again, fever blush on his cheeks, and clearly hadn't been anywhere beyond the room for a good while.

"Who's there...?" Law croaked and rubbed his eyes. The bleary expression cleared as he recognized Rosinante and he sat up in bed, smiling a little, probably without even realizing it.

"Cora-"

"Law, I need you to listen."

The child froze, face muddling, as Rosinante kneeled beside the bed, large hands enveloping the small, frail shoulders.

"Stay here. Don't look outside, no matter what you hear."

Now the boy was awake.

"Wha-why? What's going on?"

He almost said 'nothing,' before pursing his lips. Kid didn't deserve a lie like that.

"...Just listen to me, okay? "

He moved to stand, but Law grabbed his sleeve, almost toppling off the bed. "Where are you going? Something happened, didn't it? Where's Doflamingo?"

"Law-"

"You can't just say something like that and leave." A tinge of fear was spreading into Law's voice, inching like shadows across a wall. He tried to stand up. "Where are you going? I want to come too."

Rosinante cursed himself out for the lack of tact and steadied Law before he could fall, softening his voice as much as he could.

"It's fine. Everything's...it'll be fine. Really. I just need you to stay here, kid. Away from the island. I can't explain."

Maybe something in his words got through, because Law hesitated, grip slacking slightly. His eyes were so wide that the overhead lights shined like discs inside them and Rosinante bit his lip. After a moment, he reached up for his coat, slinging it off his shoulders and draped it down around the child, wrapping him in the dark, glossy feathers.

"Stay here, Law. Alright?"

The boy stared at him, forehead wrinkled, as if there were a million thoughts in his head that he wasn't shaping into words. But gradually, the tiny hands released his sleeve, bunching around the coat instead.

"...okay."

Rosinante smiled. It was too bright, too empty and didn't fool either of them. He stood.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Vergo listened in silence as Doflamingo told him everything. There was a point in which he almost thought he saw a vein pulse along the snail's face, something green with spite in the bulbous eyes._

 _"I won't tell you what to think, Doffy. Or what you should do," Vergo said, when he'd finished, softly at first, voice growing colder and colder by the word, "But Rosinante...in my opinion, Rosinante hasn't had the vaguest idea of what's important in a long, long time. And the simple proof isn't in his presumptions or his weakness or even the trite he's requesting of you now."_

 _"Then what?" Doflamingo hissed, heart beating against his ribs, something sharp trapped in his gut. His little Rosi. Poor, ill-fated thing..._

 _"Tell me."_

 _And, as if it were the most indisputable fact of the world, Vergo did._

 _"He left you. All those years ago. Without a word. Without looking back. He ran away and he gave you up."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosinante had had plans too. He thought that if they could've just left the island intact, just let this one piece of the past go, then he could've taken Doffy out of here. He could've distanced him from the executives, weaned him off the poison of their words, eventually brought in the marines and finally, finally got his brother the help he needed.

Hopeful, hysterical, stupid, stupid plans.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"You know it, uh, still _hurts_ sometimes. Not sure why, since the tissue's essentially dead, but it does. Hurts down in the core, somewhere in the dark, in ways you can't comprehend."

The pistol twirled around a bony and bandaged finger. Doflamingo's free hand rose, knuckles popping, the slice of his strings hissing through smoggy air. There was a whimper, a sob.

"Please..."

"Oh, don't beg. Look at your boy. Quit setting such a terrible example." The gun went still, held like a flimsy toy in Doflamingo's grip. The barrel clicked, his thumb caressing the safety for a moment, before unlocking it.

Another panicked cry was heard, silenced in the next second when Doflamingo shushed him.

"Eight years old, hm? I, _heh,_ watched my mother die at eight years old," he said, "And chopped off my father's head at ten. My brother wouldn't look at me. I did it for us, but Mariejois would not accept the return of a renegade family and my little brother wouldn't look at me. Just...sat there on the ground and cried. Cried and cried and cried, and then ran. He left me, the last of my blood. He ran, as if I was..."

A pause. Doflamingo's expression rippled, the mist of a scowl bursting into a razor grin. He spun around suddenly, gaze skimming across the grand expanse of the wall.

"Families," he said, "they can break so easily, can't they? No matter what you do, how you try, even if it's the one thing in the world that shouldn't. And all of you would know, wouldn't you? You would know so very well."

The strings shifted. Trebol and Diamante observed him with glee. With something approaching awe.

A voice screamed, "God, why are you doing this?" and Doflamingo laughed, because the irony was too much.

It was a deep, ragged sound, this laugh. Ugly and alien.

 _"Eye..."_ he whispered.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"...for an eye."_

"Doffy!"

After sprinting the near two miles back to town and with his lungs in shreds, Rosinante wasn't sure where his voice came from, but it clawed out of his throat anyway, as sudden and desperate as a dying thing. Doffy's coat swayed in the molten haze, a handful of feathers coming loose to crumble in the surrounding fires.

And they were all of twenty feet from each other, but it may as well have been different planes.

His brother turned around.

* * *

xxx

* * *

It took him a minute to discern if what he was seeing was a mirage. Rosi had, after all, spent a good portion of Doflamingo's life as a mirage. It'd been years since, but he'd never forgotten. A person didn't forget things like that.

But it was his brother, panting and bedraggled and coat missing, looking like he could crumple from a strong breeze.

Doflamingo smiled, all glittering teeth.

"Rosi."

He walked to him, ignoring the odd spasm of fear that crossed Rosi's face as he drew near, or the outright flinch when he clapped his brother by the shoulders. Silly thing, startling like a fawn.

"Doffy, you-"

"You're back I see, faster than expected."

"You-"

"Oh, yes, you're probably a tad irked at me, I know. But it's really what's best for you. Here, come with me. Come, come." Doflamingo drew an arm around his brother, whisked him forward towards the wall where the bodies hung and moaned.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Remember this? Remember it, Rosi? Can you believe it's still here?"

His brother chuckled, as if they were taking a fond little stroll down an old neighborhood and Rosinante stared up at the cinderblock wall, weathered with age, smeared and pockmarked from ash and bolts. He registered in some distant part of himself, that it shouldn't look as giant as it once had, but it did. Never wouldn't.

Townfolk dangled in a long row, blindfolded, strung together by coarse ropes. Most of the faces were lined and gray, and they were whimpering and bloodied, some of them stuttering out prayers and several with crusted wounds across their torsos or limbs. Doffy rambled, gesturing intermittently, like he was expecting Rosinante to recognize them, or have even the faintest idea of who they were ("A lot are already dead. I guess it _has_ been twenty years. But there's this one with the balding top, that one with moles...")

Bile lurked at the back of Rosinante's mouth.

He said again, blankly, "You pro-"

"No, no we haven't gotten to the best part yet." Doffy dragged him right beneath the many bare and swinging feet, now towards Diamante and Trebol, who Rosinante hadn't even noticed until then. The latter watched him, grin threatening to touch the corners of his eyes, flapping a hand cheerily.

"Welcome back, Corazón."

And Rosinante would've killed him right there then. Would've shot him straight between his evil, beady eyes and relished each second of the hideous death rattles to follow. He would've done it, soul and conscience be damned, if Doffy hadn't waved them aside and revealed the man.

He was old and on his knees, nose broken, a giant bruise purpling over his left brow. Bloody snot ran from his nose and tears soaked his face. Doffy's strings trapped him to the spot like a web.

"See, I was standing on the beach waiting for you. And I _was_ waiting for you, Rosi. I was. But then, _ehehe,_ but then due to some big fucking coincidence, this gentleman here decided to inquire upon our presence."

A yelp of pain was elicited as Doffy grabbed the man by his hair, cruel fingers digging into the scalp. He wrenched the face up into clear view, unveiling the sunken eyes, and Rosinante was struck with the sudden, inexplicable revelation that he _knew_ them.

Remembered them.

For Rosinante had been the one who'd guided his brother through the square of collapsed bodies that day, picking through the strewn arms and legs, searching for the same arrowhead their father had managed to pull from Doffy's eye. He'd been nauseous and quivering with fear, but biting his tongue, because Doffy had wanted to know. He'd wanted to know and he'd been so quiet and strange that Rosinante would've agreed to anything he'd asked.

It was the only face he hadn't forgotten.

"Wanna know what he said to me, Rosi?" Doffy said, and suddenly laughed, shook his head and released the man, voice pitched to a mocking croon.

"God, son, your eye. What happened to your eye?"

"I keep telling you I don't know what yer talking about!" the old man rasped, chest heaving. He craned his gaze at Rosinante now without a flicker of recognition. "Listen, please, you've got the wrong guy. I never...I don't know nothin' about yer family. The things yer sayin' I did, I would...I would _never_..."

Doffy's face turned thundering black within a second.

 _"Don't you lie to my brother!"_

His foot flew up and whatever he was going to do to the man, punt his face in, stomp on his skull, Rosinante didn't wait to find out. He'd wedged himself between the old man and his brother before his own brain could process it, baring the brunt of impact against a leg that felt like ninety-percent iron.

Doffy barely stumbled. Surprise flooded his expression, before smoothing over abruptly. Fire and the yellow, suffocated sky reflected in his lenses. Diamante swore a blue streak. Trebol crowed 'treason, treason.' They stopped existing to Rosinante in one very short beat.

Everything did.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"You promised," his brother said, "You _promised._ "

Doflamingo lowered his foot back to the ground. He felt very calm somehow, perhaps because he'd been expecting Rosi's distress. His brother didn't understand and that was a thing as predictable as the tides, but Doflamingo was also starting to see that, really, Rosi had just never understood anything at all to begin with. He was a all weakness, standing there over this piece of shit who had tortured them, all distraught over a steaming pile of manure, shielding it, letting it cower behind his legs.

He was blind.

"Rosi," Doflamingo cooed and reached out, resting hands upon sweat-stiff arms. "Relax now. It's okay."

His brother jerked out of his grip as if burnt, almost shoving him back a step.

"No, it's not. How can you even...? What's happened to you? You _lied._ "

Doflamingo's mouth flattened. He smothered out the black spark of impatience trying to ignite in his chest and smiled again, hands sliding into his pockets.

"Still getting hung up over details," he said, and looked at his brother serenely, "Nothing's happened to me. I've just...come to an epiphany is all."

Rosi shook his head, back and forth, back and forth. His face was crumpled and white.

"Doffy..."

"You get in my way. You're always getting in my way and for a long, long time, I couldn't figure out why, but now I realize it wasn't your fault," he reached out again, hand curled loose in his brother's hair and the shell of his ear. "We can't help who we are. Not ever. A man's real chains are in the nature of his blood."

There were tears now. Strange tears swimming in the pools of his brother's eyes. Rosi looked at him like...the world was ending and Doflamingo's smile softened, grew gentler.

"But don't you worry."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Bandaged fingers grazed the surface of his skin, caught the droplet that had wobbled free and begun a burning trail down Rosinante's cheek.

"I can set you free."

There was a reverberating 'snap.' His gun was tugged out of its clasp and slid delicately into his hand. His brother was still smiling that quiet, unfettered smile, even as he wrapped Rosinante's fingers around the narrow grip and switched off the safety.

Doffy turned him around with a tender touch. He pointed at the shaking old man and said, "Shoot him."

* * *

xxx

* * *

"No."

His brother's face was pale as bone, jaw set in a ridged line. Doflamingo's smile opened, filling with teeth. "Shoot him, Rosi."

 _"No."_

"You'll feel better. Just let go."

" _You_ didn't."

Doflamingo's expression flickered and went out like a candle.

"Don't test my patience."

"You promised," Rosi said softly, "and you _lied._ "

"It was for you."

Silence. There wasn't victory in it or concession, and Doflamingo felt his own fists beginning to clench. He hadn't wanted to do this, not truly, but locking Rosi up was no solution, was it? He needed to at least try and reeducate him (and it felt like all he ever did was try), so for the sake of that alone it would need to be done.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doffy's hand rose, thin and crooked, as if tapping out an invisible song.

Rosinante had the blank thought that he was about to see the old man's head go spraying and bouncing across his vision, when the footsteps pattered close instead. Small and slow, the staggering gait forced by Parasite. A child's feet.

He turned, even though he knew already what he saw would be sitting in his dreams for the rest of his life.

The boy walked from behind a clump of trees. Untouched, save for the sheer grooves that tears had made down his cheeks. His pupils were almost dots. The whites of his eyes stark.

"Daddy...?" he said and the old man started to beg.

 _(No, please, no, leave him alone. Leave him alone, he's just a boy. I'll do anything. Give you anything. Please, what is it that you want?)_

Doffy ignored him entirely. He curled his index finger and the boy gasped in terror as his trembling arms rose. The gold plates of Doffy's flintlock shined between his tiny hands. Rosinante reached for his brother's arm, groped for it senselessly.

"Doffy..

"You'll do as I say."

"Doffy, no..."

His brother whirled at him, veins sprouting on his forehead.

"It's time to grow up, Rosi," he hissed, "It's time to open your eyes. The world is cruel and cold and _we're_ the fucking examples of what it does to fools. Don't you realize yet that it _doesn't care_ what you want? All you can do is survive, living each day desperately, desperately, crossing every line, remembering every second. And then once you've gathered enough power, you dish back what was done to you tenfold."

 _"That isn't right!"_ Rosinante shouted, and the voice was raw, cracking at the end, sounding as much the foolish child his brother thought he was, "That isn't...that's not the world I've known. Have you lived all this time thinking..."

But he trailed off, words frayed, because he was on the border of something dangerous and instinct still made him shy away. Silence languished and after another beat, Doffy shook his head.

"I've really failed you, haven't I?" He looked so sorry. For the first time in all their lives. "Do as I say."

 _"I can't,"_ Rosinante breathed and Doffy sighed. His hand lifted.

"You'll do as I say, Rosi, and blast the brains right out of his skull." The boy screamed as the gun's muzzle rested against the back of his father's crown. "Or you'll watch his son do it instead."

* * *

xxx

* * *

The boy was sobbing, crying out 'stop, stop it, no, no, _Daddy!'_

"Let him go! Let him go please! _Please,_ god, where is your soul?"

Doflamingo had no idea where it was. He watched his brother, waiting, but Rosi just stood there and stood there. Not able to move.

"Don't do it like this," he whispered finally, "Not here and like this. No one should die like this."

So that was his answer. It occurred to Doflamingo that he stood on the cusp of something. That perhaps there really was no going back after this one. It occurred to him that a piece of himself had still been waiting, as he'd first been on the Red Line at ten years old before a makeshift grave, to feel something. Anything. Horror. Guilt. Shame.

But it never came.

Nothing ever came.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"The weak," Doffy said, slowly, "don't choose how they die."

And the child's finger slid against the trigger.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"I curse you," the old man said at the very end, "I curse you and I lied. I remember. The wicked spawn of Celestial Dragons. You deserved every minute of it, every second, I wish we'd killed all three of you!"

Doflamingo relaxed his pointer finger, and the boy began squeezing the trigger, shrieking incoherently the whole time. The man screamed too, eyes wild and black with hatred as he gazed upon Doflamingo.

 _"Monster! You monster!"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Monster.

* * *

xxx

* * *

A shot rang through the fire. The old man with sunken eyes folded up, fell sideways onto the ground, blood spreading in the dirt.

Doflamingo stared. He turned to his side.

Smoke still coiled from the mouth of Rosi's gun, even as his brother lowered his arm, tucked the weapon back into his belt. He didn't look at Doflamingo. Or speak to him.

And he never really would again.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Monster.


	15. mater

**mater - "mother"**

* * *

 _"Why did you do it, Doffy?" his mother had asked, kneeling in front of him in the braided sunlight of his room. Her voice soft and calm. Her hands resting on his shoulders. It was the only memory he had of her that didn't fade, because it had happened so many, many times._

 _Because he had destroyed things. Crayons and toys. A little frog the slave children loved. His own nails._

 _Why..._

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _...did you do it?_

The ship must've been at least three miles from the island by then, but the fire could still be seen climbing, clinging and clinging to life-a lurid beacon consuming every speck of green and chip of brick. Smoke bled out into the horizon beyond them, seeping into a gory sunset.

The corpses they'd left in a mountain. Doflamingo wondered what that must look like now, doused in the flames, charring into nothing.

They'd almost obliterated the town. Save for that one boy, whom Doflamingo had left to flee god knows where. And...

"How dare you disobey your captain," Trebol spat, mucous hardened around Jora's ankles. Her hands were wrenched behind her back, held there in Trebol's damp hold. The rest of the Family stood further off, huddled almost unconsciously together. They peered at her in disbelief. Baby Five worried her lip, half-hiding behind Buffalo's arm. Jora did not look at anyone.

"Forgive me, Young Master."

Trebol sniggered, opened his mouth to make some brutish retort, before Doflamingo silenced him with a glance. He walked to Jora through an echoing silence. Her shoulders flinched when she saw the tip of his shoes, but her gaze did not lift. Wind blew across the deck, ethereal fingers combing through his hair.

"You knew what your orders were, Jora."

"I did."

"And what was to be expected."

"Yes."

"But you chose not to follow them," Doflamingo said softly, "And disappoint me instead."

Her whole body jolted, as if he'd kicked her, and her head bowed further, chin almost resting against her chest.

"I didn't want to," she whispered, "I never wished to."

"But you did," he said, "You have. Why, Jora?"

 _did you do it?_

Doflamingo's eye twitched. His gaze flashed to the rail and then the masting. He wasn't sure what he'd thought he see.

"Because they were children," Jora croaked, "They were just...I had to."

"Idiot," Trebol said and Diamante snorted. "Women." They didn't need to hear anymore, moving in to hurl her into the depths. Jora didn't defend herself. She kept staring at Doflamingo's shoes and the string of pearls swayed about her neck, shivering white. And out of nowhere, he remembered then how she use to find them tacky, could go on at someone for hours about the travesties of heavy jewelry, and had only taken to wearing them because Dellinger had...

"Stop."

Trebol and Diamante froze. Eyes turned to him, even Jora's as she finally raised her head. They were runny and black with mascara. Doflamingo considered her. He knelt down, casting a shadow across her body.

"You really should be dead," he said, "But I know you miss him. And that it's been hard."

Jora's face scrunched up and the tears came loose, fat ones dribbling down her lining chin. She sobbed, hand fisting against her chest. She was an echo of herself four years ago, identical down to the rawness of the nerves and the pain of the words. "H-He was my baby. My little boy. I was a _mother..._ "

The wind shifted again. It smelled of mist and drizzle. Doflamingo stood up. He thought he would've been angry, but he wasn't. It was easier to assess his feelings on the open sea. His head didn't pound. The past didn't gnaw on his mind. "Let her go."

Many a face gawked. The Family murmured amongst each other. Diamante released her within half a heartbeat, while Trebol stammered something in complaint, before Doflamingo looked at him again and he hurried to free her legs. Jora did not stand, remaining collapsed on the deck floor and gazing up at him in surprise.

Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "...Young Master?"

"I'll chalk it up to sentiment," he said, "And a mistake. But Dellinger's gone, Jora. He's not coming back. Nothing you do is going to change that now, so don't make the same mistake twice."

And that was it. Doflamingo turned and walked off, leaving his family standing there stock-still, and intent on hunting down the drink he hadn't had in near two days. Baby Five tried to reach for his coat as he passed. At least three different hands rushed to hold her back. ("Baby," Buffalo hissed, "leave him _alone._ ")

He didn't even notice, descending the stairwell towards his quarters. The wind flowed after him, slipping through the crack of the door as it shut. It was at the base of the stairs that Doflamingo felt hands on his shoulders, gentle as first rain and he spun around, for a second eager, because he thought inexplicably that it was Rosi. That he'd left his room at last and wasn't mad anymore.

But it wasn't Rosi. It wasn't anyone.

Doflamingo frowned, standing there for a blank moment in the middle of the hall. He turned and kept walking.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _He worried her._

 _She started checking his hands at bedtime. She read many books and asked him weird questions he couldn't ever seem to answer right. She spoke to Father early in the dawn when they thought he was still sleeping. They talked about him. Or Mother did. Father never liked what she said, about how Doflamingo was different, that there was something wrong inside him and she feared Mariejois didn't have the help he needed. Father laughed it off. He told her she was overthinking things, that boys would be boys and tried to cheer her with a change of subject._

 _Doflamingo would sneak onto the landing, head tilted towards the slip of light. He'd wondered all the time back then if there was something wrong with him too. He was bored. He was restless. He was empty. He would never stop feeling, somehow, someway, like he was missing something and he couldn't have told them why. Didn't know why himself._

 _"I'm sorry," he finally said one night, in the week before his brother was born, when his mother had just finished reading to him. She looked surprised._

 _"What for, darling?"_

 _"For not feeling the right things." Doflamingo stared at the page spread open in their laps. "For being me."_

 _Mother said nothing. There was silence for such a long time that he peered up into her face. Her expression was still. The lamplight in her eyes gathered, brighter and brighter, until he realized it was the reflection of tears. Maybe he shouldn't have spoken at all._

 _She hugged him suddenly. He didn't know why. She squeezed very hard. He hugged her back._

 _"Doffy," she'd whispered, "I need you to remember something."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

They set a course for Spider Miles. Senor Pink was concerned about his wife, who had texted several times asking him to come home, fretting about their son who'd fallen ill almost a week ago. Doflamingo granted the request without much thought. Vergo had said Barrels would waffle for some time over which location to meet at, and he was getting sick of the ship anyway.

The hollows of it kept moaning, as if dying men were layered within the walls. The sounds felt as if they'd only grown louder since they'd left the island behind.

And Rosi still wouldn't speak to him. He wouldn't even come out of his room. Doflamingo obsessed over whether he was eating, what he was even doing in there, why was he being so _goddamn_ difficult when near _everything_ Doflamingo had ever done was for...and then he had to calm himself down again. He'd expected this. It wasn't a surprise. No one ran before they crawled and Rosi would come around in time. He had to have patience. It's what she'd always told him-

A floorboard creaked at his room's entrance. Doflamingo's head shot up, knocked out of his reverie. A small, round shape stood in the shadows. He had to blink a moment before he could discern it as a person.

"Law?"

The child walked in. Doflamingo realized then that the large mound over him was actually Rosi's coat and stopped himself from flinching. It dragged along the floor as he moved, one hand keeping it in place, the other cradling a book.

"What are you doing? It's almost midnight."

"Buffalo snores," Law said, even though Buffalo had always snored and Law hadn't been bothered by it for years, "What are _you_ doing? Sitting in the dark like a freak."

Doflamingo sighed, resting an elbow on the armchair. He didn't have the energy to squabble tonight.

"Just thinking."

The boy seemed confused a moment, as if he'd been revving up for another spat that had disintegrated before his eyes. It was another second, before he recomposed himself and brought the book higher to his chest. "I've got a question."

Doflamingo glanced at the tome. Intro to Navigation. He was almost certain Law had already read through the thing three or four times.

"...Do you really?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"The stuff in there's rudimentary. You could ask anyone about it."

Law's mouth twisted.

"I don't want anyone. I want _you._ "

He was blushing before the words had even fully left his mouth. Doflamingo's brows shot towards his hairline.

"Shut up," Law snapped, before he could say anything, "Shut _up,_ don't start. Are you gonna help me or not?"

His brows were furrowed so tightly it almost looked painful. His small body was trembling, whether from the draft or exhaustion it was hard to say. The feathers of Rosi's coat, which he clung to with such insistence, sifted as he teetered beneath their weight. Doflamingo's face softened a fraction. He gestured him over.

"Alright. C'mere, boy."

There wasn't another chair and he could hardly leave Law standing, so he pulled him into his lap. Doflamingo had assumed he'd complain, but there was only silence. Instead, the child set the book aside entirely, letting it fall somewhere on the desk and clenched his free hand now in Doflamingo's shirt. It was surreal.

"What's the matter with you?" he muttered, but obligingly rested a palm against the small, narrow back. "Didn't you have a question?"

Law didn't answer. Doflamingo was struck with the sudden thought he might've been about to be sick and he was already darting around for a suitable waste bin when the boy finally did speak. "Why are you fighting with him?"

He did not stiffen. "I'm not fighting with him. He's fighting with me."

"Why?"

Doflamingo shrugged, as if it hadn't been eating away at him for days. "Because his perspective is off. He goes about things in the wrong way and it needs correction."

"You never thought so before."

Lips pursing, he leaned back in his chair. Law stared up at him.

"Well, we were apart for fourteen years. I suppose I was...living in the past before." Or had he been running from it? Doflamingo told himself not to waste any more of his time pondering. It made little difference now, because it felt as if everything would be out to bear soon. That they would truly see each other at last for the people they'd become.

"What's so wrong about that?" Law frowned. "If I could I'd live in the past forever."

A white city ghosted in the pools of his eyes. Pristine and crystalline. Doflamingo was puzzled by its presence there, wondered where the freezing wasteland he use to see had gone. He couldn't separate how it made him feel-curious, perturbed, full of env-

"Words hold more weight than you assume, Law," he said, "Might come back to haunt you someday."

The boy blinked. His face was so pale, his cheeks a mottled white.

"What happened?" Law said, "On that island."

Doflamingo grinned. _"Justice."_

"Cora-san didn't think so."

"He will. In time."

"Was it because of me?" The question came out of the blue. Law's grip tightened on his sleeve. "Is this happening because of me?"

Doflamingo stared at the top of his hat. He thought detachedly that yes, in every sense, technical or otherwise, it was because of Law. That his brother wouldn't talk to him or look at him, that that hellhole ever came back into their lives. If Doflamingo were to grasp blindly at something to blame, it would invariably fall upon Law's small, bony hands. All of it.

He thought this once. Twice.

But when he opened his mouth, he found himself saying only one thing.

"No, Law." He pushed the hat's band out of child's eyes. "It wasn't because of you."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"You'll be a big brother soon," she had said, "Do you know what that means?_

 _He shrugged. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but he honestly had no idea. He wasn't sure it meant anything._

 _"I have to sleep with ear plugs in?"_

 _She blinked and then laughed, a delicate sound that he'd forget in time, even though he'd hold onto it for as long as he could._

 _"Maybe. Probably actually," She ran a hand through his hair, rubbed his head until he huffed and nudged out of her reach. "But it also means...you have a job now."_

 _"...a job?"_

 _"Yes. Your brother will be very small. This whole place, this entire world, will be brand new to him. He won't know what to expect of any of it, and he'll need someone to watch out for him and protect him. Someone to listen to him. And make him happy."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Law came with actual questions after that. It wasn't a particularly new thing for him to do and Doflamingo had long lost count of how many times the brat had accosted him in the hallway or on deck, sometimes in the middle of calls, to ask questions. Now though, in the shuffle of days it had taken to reach Spider Miles, there seemed to be a routine forming.

Every night, just past the minute of dusk, Law would appear in front of him like clockwork, no matter where he was. He always had a book with the most complex subject imaginable and at least one question that took Doflamingo over twenty minutes to explain. It got to the point where he just waited around for Law in the lounge. It was better than the boy catching him drinking.

Rosi's coat was still draped around his shoulders. Doflamingo didn't ask for the story as to why. The kids in general, seemed the only people his brother would have any contact with at all.

And therein was the final staple of this curious new habit of Law's. He'd always have something to report on Rosi, whether it was what they'd spoken about or how he was looking. Mostly, there just seemed a lot of cigarettes and silence. Doflamingo wanted to feel annoyed at Rosi, letting a child run back and forth just to affirm he was alive. But somehow, he felt like Rosi didn't know and Law was doing this all on his own.

"You really have changed."

Law lifted his head, gave him a quizzical look. "What?"

Doflamingo shrugged and Law scowled, ever a fan of his crypticness. It was a little more thoughtful of an expression this time though, in place of aggravation.

"He won't be mad forever. You're brothers."

"Where did that come from-"

"He told me once you were all he had," Law said, and Doflamingo froze. "Back when you were kids."

His head cocked as he stared up and up at Doflamingo, like the thought that they had ever been kids was barely conceivable. Something was dragged in Doflamingo's chest, a ragged, fire-in-lungs sensation. He broke their gaze.

"Did he?" he muttered, though really he wanted to ask, _So why'd he run? Why'd he leave?_

 _Why won't he look at me?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

When they arrived at Spider Miles, Senor Pink made a beeline for the main town, needing to catch a ferry there to the quainter, neighboring island where his family resided. Doflamingo eyed the piles of scrap metal in front of the waste processing plant, the harsh fissures that branched through the dirt and how some of the mounds had been thrown into disarray. There'd been tremors around Spider Miles lately-tectonics and brittle crusts and ancient earth trucked to the surface. Conditions for a landslide.

"Careful," he warned Senor Pink, or the back of his head anyway as the man hurried down the gangway, "Nearby islands could be affected too."

A distracted wave was made at him, along with a mumbled promise to return in a couple of days. For that matter, half the crew was elbowing their way down the ramp. It seemed Doflamingo hadn't been alone in feeling stir-crazy.

"Are you going to come out?" he said, hands stuffed in pockets, "You could probably use some sun at this point."

Silence.

"The town has new stores open. There's one selling dried plums."

Nothing.

Doflamingo's hands were curling into fists. It'd been nearly two weeks and he was so fucking tired of talking to a closed door. He honestly just wanted to kick it down and it was only through some desperate clutching at his own patience that he refrained.

This was all getting ridiculous. How long was his brother going to moan and snivel over a handful of wretches that had destroyed their lives? How could he be this hopeless? Doflamingo didn't understand.

"Rosi," he said, "Please."

But the door stayed where it was and Doflamingo, after another minute, stormed away before the red in his vision could blind him entirely.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"And that's me?" He did not mean for the skeptical note to crawl into his voice. It was easier now to sort through what his mother meant though. A job. He could understand a job. "Why me? He's gonna be a Dragon. He won't need me."_

 _Mother's eyes flickered. "Why would you say that?"_

 _"Because Dragons don't need anybody," he recited, eager, certain he'd said something right this time, "Not even each other."_

 _But Mother did not smile. She looked, if anything, sad again._

 _"Maybe that's true for Dragons," she said, "But it's not for family. And that's what you must see each other as, darling. Before Dragons, or world nobles. Before anything. You're family. Nothing in the world matters more."_

 _Her fingers drifted for a moment over his chest, where his heart beat._

* * *

xxx

* * *

His foul mood brought a deafening tension upon the base. Most of the men got the message and scuttled off. He knew they were throwing his name around town to get free food and services (a magnet for future headaches), but at the moment he couldn't have given a fuck. All he really wanted was a tumbler and something at least ninety percent proof swirling around inside it.

Trebol, with his knack for finding Doflamingo when he least wanted to be found, sidled up. "How about a walk, Doffy?"

Diamante leered from behind, gibbering about a saloon that was serving absinthe by the barrels. Doflamingo didn't retain much beyond that part. They didn't have to cajole him for long.

Word of his immunity with the Marines had beaten them back to Spider Miles. Doflamingo wasn't a stranger to being kneeled to, but the display when he stepped into the saloon was on a new plane. Tankards and plates actually shattered as people hurried to fall to the floor, stools being knocked over and swears uttered beneath the breath. The nervous barkeep looked like he couldn't decide whether to bow as well or take their orders.

Doflamingo made it easy for him.

"I want the hardest shit you have," he snapped, only half paying mind to Trebol as he demanded the crowd to bow lower, lower, to grind their noses into the floor. He and Diamante were heralding him as if he'd come to slay a dragon or something and free the town from tyranny. Doflamingo was just annoyed. He could get a whole room of nobodies to kowtow in his shadow, but not his own damn brother to speak to him?

He was on his third shot by the time another pirate crew barged in, hollering insults and challenging him. They must've been new. Doflamingo didn't even turn around.

"Hush," he chided the bartender when Diamante and Trebol went to work. The man swallowed his scream. At least that was one less noise in the clamor of snapped wood, whizzing bullets, general crying and running that followed. When Trebol and Diamante sat down on the stools next to him, he was fairly certain the place was either deserted or littered with corpses.

"Why is he so mad?" Doflamingo slammed his glass down, the rim of it already cracking in his grip. "After what they did to us."

"He's a plain idiot," Diamante said, guzzling a pint himself. Trebol set his hands on the counter-top, warping the polished wood. "Or something more dangerous."

He raised his hands again instantly when Doflamingo swung towards him. "A joke, a joke. Only a joke, Doffy."

"Not a good one." Doflamingo hissed, glasses gleaming red.

"Ignore 'im," Diamante was saying, "Just ignore 'im. He didn't mean it. You know he talks outta his ass sometimes."

That was true enough. Doflamingo exhaled, smoothing out his raised hackles. He needed to calm down. He didn't want to get into any more fights with family members.

Trebol grinned again and gestured the bartender over, snatching the bottle right out of the man's hand and refilling the drink himself. Doflamingo missed the warning glare Diamante shot over his head at him.

"They didn't deserve his concern," he muttered.

"You're right," they both said, "They didn't. Look at your eye-"

"No." Doflamingo downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. "They-"

And the shuttered doors swung open again. A mane of dirty blonde hair swaggered through, mouth curved into a giddy smirk.

"You guys are the Donquixote Family, aren't you?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

Bellamy of Nortis. Ran from a rich town to play pirate on the seas. What stupidity. If he could go back, he'd never be...

"Let us under your umbrella...the Donquixote Family is the pride of the North Blue...we wanna become a pirate band just like you guys!"

But never say there weren't paths to his heart. Doflamingo did enjoy flattery, if done in the correct manner.

So he gave the brat permission to the Jolly Roger. He didn't have particular confidence the group would contribute anything to it, but having another shipper in Paradise could be convenient for business.

"Yes!" Bellamy pumped his fists in the air, almost jumped up and down. "Yes, _yes!_ " The rest of his crew crowed in suit. Diamante snarled at them to get lost already, but Doflamingo waved it off. They were small fry, but they could appreciate his enterprise and the way things should run.

It was nice to know at least someone did.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"You can't forget that, Doffy. Please."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

"The Will of D."

He twitched, muscles along his spine tensing. Law hopped onto the couch beside him, book already held open. The page this time was covered in long columns of clumpy text, parts of the ink faded and yellowed. Doflamingo recognized his own scribbles in the margins, random notes he'd taken down during his teenage years, picking apart the phrases and ideas that had actually made sense. Which were few and far in between. Historians had had a lot to say, and yet absolutely nothing to say, about the Void Century.

"Hm, don't know much about it."

"Liar," Law accused,"You know everything."

It wasn't even a grudging allowance or implied with a drop of embarrassment. Doflamingo chuckled, propping his chin beneath his knuckles.

"Well, it was a secret clan, borne out of a hazy period of time. You ought to cut me some slack."

"No." The book was thrust into Doflamingo's lap. Law's chin jutted, like he didn't accept the idea that there were things Doflamingo didn't know. "Tell me."

He sighed. "Alright, alright." But there really wasn't much to tell. Speaking about the Clan of D also made his insides crawl. The tale of their coming storm had been such a common thread of forbearance in Mariejois that it still stirred in his marrow. Like the blood itself remembered.

"It's an inheritance," he explained, "People crop up with the initial every few decades or generations. Usually the relevant lines keep it a secret."

"Why? What would happen if they didn't?"

Doflamingo shrugged. "The Celestial Dragons have no fondness for them and they're known as the natural enemies of god. You can imagine the consequences for yourself."

"...oh."

"Blood remembers," Doflamingo said, thumbing through the heavy book. He looked out the darkening porthole across the room. "Even renegade blood."

"What do you mean?"

Doflamingo didn't answer. It was a messy business the boy didn't need to know about.

"Hm, why the sudden curiosity anyway? You've gotten...so diverse with your interests lately."

The little face peered at him. His body was swallowed in the ruffle of his brother's feathers. Shadows writhed at the foot of the couch, slices of sunset and twilight snaking about their legs. Doflamingo did wonder, sometimes, what the child thought of him.

"I want to be an executive."

"If I get cured," he hurried to say as Doflamingo stared, "If I get cured, I...want to become an executive. Like Cora-san."

"Do my ears deceive me?" Doflamingo grinned, and Law bristled. His pallor really was against him since the pink in his cheeks flared out like a beacon.

"You use to say I'd make a great right-hand man. Was that an offer or a lie or what?"

"I told you that once," Doflamingo said, leaning back in his seat, "But...no, it wasn't a lie."

"So it was an offer?" Despite a veil of apathy, excitement lurked in Law's expression. Doflamingo crossed his legs, faintly amused.

"It's always been an offer," he said, and flattened his hand on Law's head, pushing the hat over his eyes. The child sputtered, and Doflamingo chuckled, allowing his palm to be wrestled. "I'm a little surprised at you."

"Why?" Law snapped, lifting Doflamingo's hand off his head like a dumbbell. In a huff, he shoved his hat back out of his face. "Where else would I go?"

A cold, muted part of him tittered. _Where indeed._

"Remember you asked for it."

Law snorted, as if he were offended at the mere suggestion otherwise.

"Not exactly conveying a lot of confidence in me."

"Oh, confidence is not what's lacking. My hopes are quite high for you, Law. Always have been." He would've gone into an intricate description of the fire-and-ether future he was already seeing. Someone at last who could understand the bigger picture, who could pull the trigger when he was told to or needed to or ought to.

And again, he said none of it. The only thing he managed to give voice to was soft, as if it had sprung from somewhere else entirely.

"There's greatness in you, boy."

Law rolled his eyes. Perhaps he didn't even realize himself then that he was smiling.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(He told Cora-san. He thought it'd been the right thing.

The man had looked better. He didn't reek as badly of cigarette smoke as the previous week and he smiled a little when Law shuffled in, sitting next to him on the window sill.

"You should get more sleep," he said, "You don't have to come every day."

"You don't have to stay here every day," Law retorted, though it was perfunctory by that point. He didn't understand why Cora-san wouldn't leave the room, but knew it was futile trying to convince him.

"Doflamingo told me something kinda interesting."

Cora-san stared out the window. Law thought his expression relented though. Just a bit. It was the first time in almost a month. He felt a little encouraged. Even more so, when Cora-san turned to him and asked, "About what?"

"The Will of D."

It was weirdly identical, how Cora-san and Doflamingo flinched at the words. Law was starting to question if there was more to the whole thing than he realized.

"Oh, yeah?" Cora-san said eventually, "...What did he tell you?"

Law explained the impromptu history lesson he'd received, noting especially the parts about the Celestial Dragons and the coming storm, which Doflamingo had seemed to linger on. If Cora-san was reacting though, he didn't let it show.

"Why were you asking him this, Law?"

He shrugged. "I was curious." The moon was ghost white that night. "And well...because I'm also one of them."

Something odd happened then. Even in hindsight, Law couldn't have described it well, not in any way that made sense. Cora-san shifted to him. The brush of his clothes was thunderous, the shape of his words echoed. As if all the sound had bled from the world.

"What?"

Law crossed his legs. He didn't think it had been a good idea at first, revealing the full breadth of it to a bunch of crazies, but...Cora-san was different. He could trust Cora-san.

"Trafalgar D. Water Law," he said, "That's my real name."

"Did you tell him?"

He blinked and must've taken too long to reply, because Cora-san suddenly snatched him by the shoulders. Almost shook him. "Did you tell him your name? Answer me, Law."

"W-Who? Doflamingo?" his eyes widened, "No. No, I-I didn't get the chance."

He was released. Cora-san thudded back against the sill, as if the energy had been drained out of him.

A cold unease began to settle in Law's belly. "What's going on?"

But the man shook his head. "What else did you say?"

And there was a certain note to his voice which Law had never heard before, which sounded remarkably like Doflamingo, and made Law obey without even thinking.

He told him. About the executive position and becoming the next Corazon. He had figured the fighting would stop this way. Because he didn't mind doing the things Cora-san wasn't able to. He didn't care. If the fighting stopped and everything went back to normal then he didn't care at all.

So he told Cora-san.

God, he thought it'd been the right thing.)


	16. et pater

**et pater - "and father"**

* * *

 _The flesh had blotched and sagged by the third day. Oddly, since the lips had long rescinded over the teeth. It made at least two women faint and a priest gasp an exorcism at him, before he started carrying the thing in a sack. The stench was growing fouler. He wasn't nearly as bothered by it though, as he was with the smile._

 _Rictus and eternal. All it had ever known how to do. He lugged it to Heaven's gates, thoughts turning on and off like a faulty light switch._

 _My father is dead. He loved the world below. Wanted to be human. Wanted to live in a way not meant for him. He destroyed us forever. He betrayed me. He left us here._

 _I have no father anymore._

* * *

xxx

* * *

It rained. Doflamingo sat against the window and watched the skies weep. Baby Five hummed, her voice ghostly and echoing in the shadowed room, broken by the occasional giggle as he idly braided her hair. She was a mite jealous of the time he'd been spending with Law and seemed clingier than usual. Kids were funny creatures that way.

"Look, look, Young Master," she said and raised three white roses, bound together in a crimson ribbon, "Me and Buffalo bought them in town today." Her voice faded. "They're for Miss Russian."

He blinked, recalling for a moment that fortnight ago, when Senor Pink had staggered back to base in the twilight, drunk out of his mind. The child was dead. His wife following suit. He collapsed before Doflamingo's feet and asked dully for a few more weeks-the most that doctors predicted she'd last. ("Hm, you didn't listen to me." "I'm sorry, Young Master." "Oh, I don't reckon you were, Senor. Not then." An aspirin bottle clattered, rolled over to the man by a pointed shoe. "But I know you are now.")

Baby Five held the bouquet close to her face, inhaling its sweet aroma. She glanced over her shoulder at him, flowers tickling beneath her chin. "Do you like them?"

Doflamingo made a noncommittal noise. His hand fell out of her hair and traced the rose petals with the edge of a nail. Mother's favorite, he thought briefly. Vividly. Sad, pretty things.

"Of course, Baby."

She smiled, drew her legs up to perch on his knee while her tiny pale toes settled on his thigh. They were quiet a moment, before she chewed her lip.

"...Senor Pink was wearing the bonnet again yesterday. The one Gimlet had before."

"Oh?"

"He said it was for Miss Russian. 'Cause it made her happy. But when he comes back, he doesn't take it off. He wears it all day. Sometimes the pacifier too. And they laugh at him. Diamante-san and Trebol-san. Why does he keep wearing it when they laugh at him?"

Doflamingo hardly assumed Pink gave a fuck what Diamante and Trebol thought of him. It did sound however, like something had gotten twisted inside the man. Fractured. A ripple of annoyance threatened the edges of Doflamingo's mind. This was why he hated sharing. Nothing was ever returned to him in the careful condition they'd been preserved.

"Some people just have no clue what's good for them."

The impatience seeped in. He hadn't meant it to, but it was suddenly apparent, even to Baby, that he wasn't referring to Senor Pink anymore. Her expression fell.

"Don't be sad, Young Master." She touched his hand, which only made him scowl out the window, because what was she talking about? He wasn't sad. He didn't identify this all-consuming frustration as sadness. He was _pissed off_ , yes, and more than confused, but that was the extent of it far as he was concerned.

A soft field of white opened in his vision, derailing the train of thought. He had to startle back an inch before it reconfigured into the whorls of a rose. Baby Five offered the flower with dark, solemn eyes.

"Here," she said, "For you."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _They left Mariejois in the spring._

 _The day of the announcement, Father called him into his study-a cavernous room with two floors connected by spiraling marble staircases. Giant arched windows stretched across the east and west walls, where clouds crept by and sunlight spilled without abate. Catacombs of books and scrolls lined jewel-encrusted shelves. A silver telescope sat mounted on a pedestal. The space was wood-dust and papyrus and roses._

 _Doflamingo knew more than half of everything in here was Mother's, that Father still had to pretend they were his when guests visited, lest it be "inappropriate" otherwise, though Doflamingo still couldn't understand how. Seemed more idiotic than inappropriate._

 _"My big boy's growing too fast," Father said, laughing as he heaved him into his lap, "You'll end up a titan at this rate." He almost stuttered mid-word, mustache twitching when he glanced at Doflamingo's hands, where a blob of blood had welled beneath the nail of his left ring finger. Doflamingo was staring at it too. He tried not to pick at his nails so much anymore, for how it upset his brother. Didn't mean the urge ever left him._

 _Father took the bleeding hand in his own larger one. "Now Doffy, you must stop this. It's very silly to keep hurting yourself."_

 _Doflamingo blinked slowly behind his shades. It did not hurt though. Most of the time, he could barely feel it at all. And whatever pain that could be summoned was invariably muted, a dull pinprick registered at the back of his brain. It was weird. Kind of fascinating. He had the vague notion it wasn't normal either, but it seemed like a waste of breath to share. Father did not often hear what he didn't want to hear._

 _He pulled his hand free._

 _"You asked to see me?"_

 _Something wounded passed Father's eyes, before he smiled._

 _"...Ah, yes, yes," he turned in his seat, pulling over the terrestrial globe, which rocked gently in its mounting, "Tell me, son, I've mentioned a few times now about us moving below, haven't I? How much do you know of the lower world?"_

 _He shrugged. "Not much. There's the four Blues and the Grand Line. Paradise on one half and the New World on the other. The cretins sort them into their own little kingdoms."_

 _Father sighed, shook his head with an exasperated smile. "Oh, Doffy, don't call them that."_

 _"Why not? Everyone else does."_

 _"Well, we shouldn't care what everyone else does," Father chided, and pointed at a ridge along the north coast of the Red Line, "See this spot? A hamlet's recently been built there. It's at the corner of a vibrant market, settled in a valley where the air and rivers are fresh and clear. There'd be plenty of space and sunlight for you and Rosi to play. Your mother could grow her favorite roses in the window box. Doesn't that sound wonderful?"_

 _Doflamingo looked. He couldn't imagine the lower world in any other context besides the pictures he'd seen in Mariejois's storybooks. And nothing was particularly wonderful about **those** pictures (they made Rosi cry, Mother had banished them from the house), nor did they remotely resemble the scene Father was painting._

 _"Imagine seeing that first real dawn. Or breathing in a crisp autumn night. Imagine feeling wind from the mountains beneath your clothes."_

 _"I can't feel anything."_

 _Father laughed. It's what he did. Years later, Doflamingo would recall that Father had gazed upon him oddly too. It was a different sort from Mother's. For while she worried endlessly about the pieces of him that didn't seem to work, Father simply reconstructed him until they did._

 _Even if the son he ended up seeing was hardly the one he would know._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Why won't you talk to him?"

Rosinante didn't turn around. He heard the tap of Baby Five's shoes as she pattered closer.

"Cora-san?"

He was silent, cigarette dangling between his lips. Baby Five folded her arms, the note in her voice reproachful.

"You're making the Young Master so sad."

Rosinante wished she'd leave now. He sucked up another lungful of smoke, ignoring the ridiculous lurch of guilt in his chest. Doffy wasn't sad. He was annoyed probably, and angry. He wasn't sad.

Didn't know the meaning.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Spring was almost over.

There were some nights, if he drank hard enough, that Rosi would materialize before him. Ten or twelve steps apart, close enough to bridge the gap or split it wide. His hooded eyes stared at Doflamingo, incredulous and sickened. Wasn't real obviously. His Rosi had locked himself away, caged himself off, wouldn't speak wouldn't look at him _(and what if, Doflamingo was starting to think, what if he never did again? it'd been almost three months. it'd never been almost three months before. what had he done? Doflamingo couldn't even remember in certain moments. what had he done?)_

The gusts on the cliff side were dry and piercing. Doflamingo teetered along the edge, bottle in one hand and the other hanging above the sea. Sometimes, if he stumbled, Rosi's fingers would twitch. But it was just a hallucination, so he never moved beyond that.

Doflamingo huffed out a laugh. His gaze swept the slate black waters, the heaps of nails and rust and stinking smears of exhaust and bio-fuel. There never failed to be corpses getting washed back ashore on Spider Miles, putrefying along some serrated outcropping. Too many animals. Too little knowledge of how the damn tides worked.

 _...to be human, Doffy. And to live down there in the real world, it'll be an experience Mariejois could never offer you._

He turned the bottle, holding it loosely between his fingertips. When it struck a particular angle of the moon, he could mistake it for the old globe in his father's study, spinning and spinning still.

 _Doesn't that sound wonderful?_

Veins gnarled his neck and temples.

"Heh, wonderful," he muttered, and then flung the bottle off the cliff with such violence it popped like a balloon upon contact with the water.

Wonderful.

 _Fucking_ wonderful.

"It's like you think I wanted it this way," Doflamingo said, because he'd been scrounging after an explanation for this weird, mangled pain inside of him, "You little idiot. You should be mad at _him._ Miserable old man messed up your mind with his sunshine, shit-filled ideals. And you waste all those tears on him, when I was the one who was trying to get us home. You leave me when I was just trying to fix what he broke. You're unbelievable. He ruined our lives. He killed our mother. Look at yourself. Look at me. I was a god. What the fuck am I now?"

Doflamingo's fingers rose, scraping against a star-flooded sky.

"I'm _this,_ because of him."

* * *

xxx

* * *

The stars were out, winking awake two by two in the plain of indigo and bruise-blue. Rosinante waited for the moon, smoking methodically until he saw it hang down like a bulb on a night-black cord. Then he stood, stuffed his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and drifted out the door.

The ship was deathly still, only the cavities groaning as it swayed. He couldn't stand the sound. Hated it. Haunted his sleep.

It began with the desk. Files spread loose, contracts skimmed, giant maps and sea charts untied for a trace of a marking on where the Ope Ope's location could be.

He was clinical in his search. Doffy's main logbook was full of illegible words and numbers, mashed together in some chaotic fashion that only made sense to him. Rosinante didn't relent though, rifling and checking through all the inches and corners of the cabin, emptying drawers and shelves. There had to be a clue here somewhere. A reference, a name.

The first few times he would freeze at every noise, the muscles along his spine taut. It took him almost five minutes to relax after he realized it was the wind or the gulls, their wings flapping outside as they landed on the masting. The Family and crew had unloaded onto Spider Miles, crowding into the base or motels, eager to sleep again on solid ground. The entire ship had essentially been deserted for months and it felt like he was a ghost sometimes, drifting through the halls, pursuing something he couldn't find.

He had no time to sit around and stew though. Certainly none to waste on trailing his drunk-off-his-ass, half-blind, unable-to-swim brother up another crumbling bluff.

Yet he was here.

His brother didn't even move the first time he saw him. He'd stopped pleading with Rosinante months ago, and squinted at him thereafter like he thought he was a dream. That suited fine. What was there left to say.

"...I'm _this,_ " Doffy hissed, "because of him."

Rosinante's fists squeezed.

You're this, because of _you,_ he thought faintly.

Because of _me,_ his heart couldn't help adding.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The crimson edge of summer was peeking when he received another call from Vergo. Barrels had been in contact again, demanding a rendezvous with the Marines in about six months at a persistently secret location.

"Apparently he requires time to set other accounts straight. The Marines don't have much leverage, so they were forced to accept. He was a former officer anyway. Pointless to bluff. We'll have to wait."

Doflamingo stared holes into the Den Den Mushi. He didn't _want_ to _wait_ anymore. He had a boy to cure, a right-hand man to raise. He thought about it entirely too much these days, fixated for lack of anything else pleasant to think about, and now _Barrels_ was trifling with him. Itching for that final coffin nail it seemed. Doflamingo was going to make his death _excruciating-_

"Doffy? Are you still there?" The snail's head leaned forward. "Doffy, the connection."

The speaker's metal case crunched in Doflamingo's grip. A warped edge punctured his skin and Doflamingo didn't so much feel it as see it, staring as the blood sluiced hot down his knuckles. Still took him a moment to loosen his hold, and an additional beat to switch hands. There was a blank silence.

"I want that fruit, Vergo."

The snail nodded slowly.

"I'll find him." Its eyes were narrowing. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I just did."

"Not that. You sound stressed. Something else is troubling you. What is it you need?"

 _My brother to speak to me._

Doflamingo trapped the words inside with a concentrated effort, but it seemed to make little difference. Vergo spoke as if he'd plucked them straight out of his head. "Is it Rosinante?"

He didn't answer. Vergo hummed as if he had.

"...You know it's been a long time, Doffy. How about I come around?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

Vergo must've been close by, because he somehow arrived within three hours, features set in stolid countenance. His white trench coat fluttered against the draft as he shut the door behind him. He'd sneaked into Doflamingo's room like a thief. There was a book of matches stuck to his face.

"You look like shit," he said and strode towards the window, gait heavy and purposeful. His beard was the same shape and color. Nothing about him ever changed.

Doflamingo rolled his eyes, legs stretched against the sill. He'd never appreciated that nagging tone of Vergo's, though he supposed it was all that dragged him through those first years alone, when he couldn't yet convince himself Rosi was gone. _Eat this, Doffy. Sit down. You're bleeding. Forget him. He isn't family. Family is loyal to you. Stays by your side. Family doesn't betray you. He isn't family,_ _ **we**_ _are._

"Shut up."

Vergo didn't. "You haven't been sleeping. Look at your hands."

Without warning, he took one of them and shoved it under Doflamingo's gaze. It was quivering and welted. He'd been peeling the skin off the fingers again. The wound from earlier had scabbed over and it made Doflamingo snicker.

"Weird shape."

"What?"

"Like a dead fish."

Vergo stared at him, glanced at his hand again. There was a pause.

"Hm. A little."

"That's where he should've gone, you know," Doflamingo whispered and tugged out of Vergo's grip before snatching his trim Marine-issued collar. "To the _fishes._ "

"Yes," Vergo said, like he knew exactly what he was talking about, and didn't resist being towed forward. "He was to blame."

"I killed an entire island, Vergo."

"I heard. The Marines are trying to have your immunity removed."

"Heh." Doflamingo's mouth twitched. "There was fire everywhere. They all died screaming. I enjoyed it immensely. I felt absolutely nothing." He halted, the distance between them scant centimeters. "...What does that make me?"

"Better than them."

Doflamingo pulled the matchbook from his face. Vergo didn't even acknowledge it. His own hands had moved, hovering on both sides of Doflamingo's jaw. His lust was palpable, but he waited for permission. Always waiting for permission. A bloodied index finger rose.

"Greater."

String looped the door handle. The lock clicked in place.

"A _king._ "

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Doffy's hair awed him. It was an inconceivable shade of gold, brighter and yellower than the sun. Vergo swore it glowed. Almost everything about Doffy glowed. His teeth, his blood, the cunning blue of his right eye and the waxen ivory of his left. The ridged scar, which Vergo still remembered fresh and contorted in the chilly air. He was stunning to behold and never wouldn't be.

And yet...

Doffy tossed his glasses from the bed, face turning in the dark where Vergo reclined. He straddled him, the teasing, clever, half-ruined hands drifting south of his abdomen. There were stress lines and circles so deep beneath his eyes they looked embedded. The air was saturated with wine. Blood trickled with sluggish intermittance from the many random little cuts on Doffy's fingers.

Pain flickered in his expression and that was unacceptable. When he'd left the ship five years prior, Doffy was still grinning, weaving his strings to strangle the world. He was fury and flame and untouchable. Vergo could've slaughtered empires for him. Scooped the moon out of a canyon. Presented enemy heads on ten-foot pikes just for him to admire.

He'd been laid so low. Trebol was right. Doffy was being _ruined._

And it was Rosinante's fault.

"What are you planning to do?" he asked, when they were both trembling and soaked in sweat, the mattress springs vibrating beneath their legs. "With your brother that is. If the boy is to take his place."

Doffy was quiet for an exceedingly long time. Slammed cards echoed through the vents. Hauled crates and children giggling. Vergo watched the back of his head, almost thought he'd fallen asleep, before he spoke. "Keep him with me."

Vergo lifted his head, jaw tight. "Why?"

"It's my job."

"What job, Doffy?" Vergo said, and propped himself up further, touching Doffy's shoulder. The "job" had wandered in and out of their lives like a malignant disease. Doffy didn't forget it no matter how much time passed. It was etched into his brain. Shackled him down. He couldn't escape it and Vergo's blood boiled at the thought that anyone had ever thought to bind Doffy to the godforsaken rube that was his brother. "You don't serve anyone. There is no job. You're paying beyond his worth."

"I don't care." Doffy's voice sounded childish and slurred. A low flat mumble, like Vergo's words had made no sense at all. "He's mine."

His hand was shrugged off. It was apparent this kind of talk wasn't welcome, but for the first time Vergo found himself reluctant to obey. He couldn't abide by Rosinante, who'd given his brother up, who'd ran and still wouldn't let Doffy be free of him. Vergo swallowed. He stared at the golden hair.

"...You know Sengoku tried to send an evacuation notice."

Silence.

"It was about ten days before you arrived on the island. I got a man to intercept it. Disposed of him under a botched mission. Sengoku knew where you were headed, Doffy. Tell me how that's possible."

The air felt heavier. Oppressive. Doffy wasn't moving.

"He'd wanted you to spare them, hadn't he? Rosinante, I mean."

"Stop..."

"It isn't a coincidence. You know it isn't-"

Doffy sat up. Ghost-quiet and with a fluidity that stopped even the bed from groaning. The broad, scarred slab of his back faced him, columned ridges of spine visible with each silent pull of air. Danger loomed, bright and mirthless in its poisonous skin.

"Get out."

Vergo rose. He slung his trench coat over his shoulders without a word and gathered the remnants of his clothing. He had pushed it, but kept fear far from his mind. There was but one purpose in his life. Vergo would not permit anyone taking it away.

"I'll be in the area," he said, and softly shut the door. Doffy never looked back.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

The Marines.

His mind turned, interlocking gears cycling and shifting with dispassion towards a new destination. Doflamingo jammed a crowbar in right away. He had no desire to go.

He leaned over the sill, breathing carefully, and cracked the paneling from the force he'd used shoving up the frame. The acrylic jar Baby had found for the flower crashed off a shelf and smashed in half. White petals spilled out in a puddle of water. It was almost silver in the moonlight, parts indigo and lavender in the dappling shadows.

Doflamingo could barely see. There was red flaring from all corners of his vision. He picked up the rose, caging it in a loose, shivering fist. His teeth ground back and forth.

The _Marines._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Barrels. It carried a familiar ring, but Rosinante couldn't explain how as he skimmed through the rest of the document. It seemed his brother had hijacked a trade-off between the man and a group of black marketeers for the Ope Ope map. A thieving mind could hold a mean grudge and Barrels returning the favor didn't seem too off mark. Especially when his brother had clearly been pissed at the man for at least something, slashing the name over and over again across the page and tearing several holes through the ink-splattered paper. It was a crazed fit he'd never grown out of. One among a plethora haunting the halls of their childhood. Rosinante sighed.

At times, he could not wrap his head around how his parents hadn't thought to get his brother help immediately. Back when it would've made a difference. Or dealt with it in any way aside from chaining Rosinante to him and hoping he'd soothe the beast in time. Never mind that they'd had no means to understand each other. Never mind that they were _never_ going to understand each other and all he'd ever had for a shield was the meaning of his blood.

But Rosinante wasn't bitter. Twined forever with a monster, why should he be? And he wasn't tired either. Not at all.

A crash rocketed through the ship.

With a startled swear, Rosinante grabbed the desk, nearly stumbling over his own legs as the floorboards jittered beneath his soles. For a second, his mind flashed to cannon-fire, before a series of violent thuds followed from within the ship, as if something huge was bumping into the walls. Rosinante's heart near-rammed through his rib cage when he heard the familiar muttering of his brother. His footsteps wove unevenly down the hall, closer and closer, until pausing thirty feet or so away. Whatever he was saying was slurred and beneath the breath. A door swung open as Rosinante sweated, pinpointing it to a nearby bathroom. _Shit, what was he doing here?_

Stupid question. Rosinante cursed himself out as he rushed to gather papers and clean the mess he'd made. His brother hadn't returned to the ship in so long that he'd gotten sloppy. Lax. If he was found here...

Doffy started retching.

Rosinante froze. There was a groan. Something scraped against the floor. Doffy hurled again and Rosinante forgot about the mess.

Had he been drinking?

No. Rosinante shook his head. No, no, it didn't matter. If his brother was preoccupied, then he could continue searching. He still didn't know where Barrels had taken the fruit, or if he was even planning to keep it. And the creature out in the hall was a monster. A murderer full of empty promises. He didn't have time for it, no matter how in pain it sounded. Rosinante's lips pursed and he returned to the table.

He read and processed nothing for four and a half minutes, while his brother's pants echoed in his ears. He stopped trying when the breaths softened, and stood there straining to hear movement.

And when Doffy went still and the silence descended, Rosinante's nerves scattered like dust into the wind. The papers dropped out of his hands, littering in a ring on the floor. His body was moving ahead before his brain could command it to. Miles ahead.

"Doffy?" He ran into the hallway, where he was greeted with a gaping hole in a porthole window and a carpet of shattered glass. The moon peered inside, wan-faced, like it had watched the whole sorry sight. Rosinante shoved into the bathroom. _"Doffy?"_

The sink was broken too, part of the basin smashed. White flecks littered the floor and Rosinante almost thought he was hallucinating when he realized they were flower petals. _Wha..._

He brushed it aside for now, crouching and struggling to lift his slumped brother off the tiles. Doffy didn't smell nearly drunk enough for this to be overindulgence. With a measure of awkwardness, Rosinante twisted his body, trying to get a look at his brother's face. The glasses were gone. Doffy's right eye brimmed with so much blood the pupil was almost submerged.

Migraine, he realized, blankly, and was shoved aside a second later as Doffy vomited for a third time into the toilet bowl. Rosinante watched him dry-heave for several seconds, turning cold inside when the choked noises eventually warped into pitchy laughter.

"They wanna _fuck_ with me? Want a _demon_ so badly? I'll show them..."

Doffy lurched to his feet, wandering right past and stepping through the porcelain shards and petals. Rosinante remembered how to move again and hurried after him, hair prickled on his arms, unsure of what he'd just heard but unable to get his mind to focus on it. His brother was going to fall.

"No, come here." He snatched Doffy by the elbow to steer him into the closest bunk-room. "Lie down."

Doffy stumbled, snickering, as Rosinante all but carried him the last few feet to a cot. It didn't seem to be processing in him that anyone else was there. There was only one dim bulb inside, but even that made Doffy wince. Rosinante shaded his brother's much-abused eyes with one hand while he groped for the switch with the other. When darkness flooded the room, Doffy's hand suddenly flew to his wrist and Rosinante flinched as the fingers tightened.

"...Rosi?" The eyes blinked sightlessly up at him. The grip didn't relinquish when Rosinante tugged at his arm.

He sighed and settled on the floor. "Just go to sleep."

"Is this real?"

Silence.

"...You've been ignoring me."

He kept quiet.

"'s not very nice, you bastard."

"You deserve a lot worse than being ignored," Rosinante snapped.

Doffy tilted his head. He sounded too dazed for his temper to rise. Rosinante doubted he'd recall any of this come morning. "Why're you so angry?"

"Wha-you _know_ why. Are you going to pretend to my face like you don't?"

Doffy went quiet and Rosinante resented the guilt he felt then. It wasn't fair. What reason did he have for guilt? Why was he the only one who ever seemed crushed by this weight?

"...They had to die. For what they did."

"And what did they do?" Rosinante couldn't understand. "Just one man took your eye-"

Doffy chuckled, derisive and delirious in turn. The fingers around his wrist were going slack. "My eye? Always making me laugh, little brother."

Rosinante stared. "...What?"

But there was no further elaboration. Doffy was fading.

"I told you before," he slurred, "that everything ends. Don't make it hurt more than it should."

And his hand fell, sliding off to rest on the sheet. Rosinante sat there for a beat further, eyes on the opposite wall as his brother's breaths steadied into slumber. He stood eventually and returned to the bathroom, soaked a hand-towel in the cracked sink and wrung it hard. He was draping it over his brother's eyes when he saw the flower, pulverized beyond reckoning in Doffy's other hand.

A white rose. Rosinante extracted it gently. He remembered the petals in the bathroom. Their mother had loved white roses.

The head was mangled. The stem fractured. Doffy had destroyed it, because that was all he knew how to do. He couldn't change. Rosinante lifted his gaze, took in the motionless form of his brother.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Evil waited at a fork in the road.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Going somewhere, Corazón?"

The scrap of Barrels' last known coordinates were stuffed in his pocket when he left the ship. He didn't go back to Doffy's office to rifle for a location. He needed a smoke and a break. He needed a lot of things, but not one of them was meeting Trebol again on that cold, dark wharf.

Or Vergo.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" The hands were folded behind his back, elbows bent at ninety degrees. The face was expressionless, flat as black ice. "Such a handsome man now. Certainly the spitting image of your older brother."

The tone shivered with malice. Rosinante's eyes narrowed. He hadn't seen a shred of Vergo since returning to Doffy, only managing to gather he'd departed for a mission prior to Rosinante's arrival. At the time, he'd assumed it'd been for underworld operations and resigned himself to leaving it alone. He'd been too preoccupied with Doffy in the daytime to worry about Joker at night.

"Get out of my way."

"Behehe, still no manners I see. And we were so eager to wax nostalgia with you. Nene, Vergo, remember the first time we met Doffy and Corazón? It was a crossroads too, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Vergo said, without glancing at Trebol, even as the man encroached upon him. "I remember quite well."

Rosinante's lip curled with disgust. "I said get out of my way."

"We will, we will," Trebol said, grinning, and ambled forward. The sound of chains rattled in the silence. "That's the last thing we want to be, right? _Nuisances that get in the way._ Oh, look how he glares at me, Vergo. Maybe we shouldn't give him any information on the Ope Ope after all."

Rosinante kept his face neutral with a vicious effort, ignoring the several beats his heart skipped in a line. "What are you talking about?" Trebol cackled, tapping his chin with a damp finger.

"Well..."

And he shared something terrible about the Ope Ope no Mi, which rendered all of Sengoku's attempts to find it with stark clarity. Rosinante failed to wipe the shock from his face. He had never heard of a Devil Fruit capable of the power and consequences Trebol claimed.

"It's called the Perennial Youth Surgery. Behe, you should be grateful. Doffy wanted me to keep it a secret, you know. But since you're _so fond_ of little Law, I thought you might need the time to prepare yourself."

Rosinante shook his head. "No. He wants Law as his right-hand man. It wouldn't make sense."

"Ehhh? Makes perfect sense to us. Sure, maybe the fruit cures him and he becomes Doffy's right-hand man, or maybe it doesn't. Two roads can lead to the same place. Sooner or later, he's gonna make Doffy _immortal_ and then-"

 _"Shut up,"_ Rosinante said, so abruptly that Trebol did, caught off-guard, "You're a lying sack of shit. Never been anything more. There's no reason to believe you."

He turned as Trebol's jaw dropped, and began stalking back to the ship on numb feet, fully intending to rouse his brother and wrest the actual truth from him. The island had been one thing, but this, the _kid_ was-

"It's interesting you presume knowledge of someone you gave up years ago."

Rosinante continued walking, annoyed at himself for even faltering at Vergo's words.

"But Doffy has been keeping secrets from you for a long time, Rosinante. And so many. You can take my word on that."

Don't stop. Don't look back.

"Starting," Vergo said, "with your father."

Rosinante stopped. He looked back.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(It'd been for his king.

Vergo whispered this to himself, even as he spoke, rearranging the narrative, inserting pieces out of order and conjuring others out of the air. They'd presented options, provided a vehicle for vengeance. The gun. ("Don't you recognize it, Rosinante?")

Even Trebol was staring at him. Unnerved and slightly beaded with sweat. For all his scheming, the man would never have gone so far. Wouldn't have dared, in the face of what horrors Doffy could inflict if discovered. That was the difference, Vergo thought, between the other executives and himself. In the end, they were worried foremost about their own hides.

Vergo had a better sense of priority.

And he was either going to fix the Rosinante problem now or eliminate it entirely.

"You don't find it so hard to believe, do you?" he said, "He loathed your father by the end. Could barely speak his name. Justifiable, after such suffering. And Doffy's not like you, Rosinante. Hindered by your cheap, simpering, _ruinous_ weaknesses. He demands collection in full. Always. As you've seen."

He received no response. A glassy film had appeared over Rosinante's eyes, rendered them opaque and unseeing. He had paled to such a degree that when the moon fled behind the cloud cover, he was almost translucent.

"To tell the truth, I think you've been afraid to examine it from the beginning," Vergo said, unfolding his hands to brush a piece of lint off his breast pocket, "I think, deep down, you already knew it to be true."

Rosinante walked away. Aimlessly. He wandered past the ship and towards the cliffsides. Perhaps he was going to throw himself off and dash his head apart on the rocks. One could only dream. Trebol was muttering to him, a facade of glee over fear. Vergo didn't hear a single word. The sole phrase that circled his head then would remain there for the rest of his days.

It'd been for his king.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _What had his brother said, that final night?_

 _I wish you would die._

 _I wish you would die._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Cora-san was on the beach. He was standing so still and looking out to sea. Given how thick the night was, Baby wasn't sure what he could've seen. Seawater had drenched his shoes, soaked the cuffs of his pants almost to the ankles, as if he'd allowed the tides to slosh and recede over him for some time.

"Is that Cora-san?" Buffalo murmured, while Law tilted his head. Worry flashed for the briefest of seconds in his eyes. He scowled and pulled ahead of them without a word. Baby didn't know why he was acting like something was wrong. She couldn't believe Cora-san was outside at all!

Maybe he was finally ready to stop fighting with the Young Master. She really hoped so. Nothing had seemed right since they'd left that island behind. Baby Five was despondent for change.

"Let's go," she said to Buffalo, and they followed Law down to the beach. In the dark, the rowboat wasn't noticeable until they were barely seven feet away, bobbing minutely with the snow-capped waves. Law was staring up at Cora-san, one hand around his feathered coat. Cora-san hadn't moved. He didn't acknowledge when Baby Five bounded up and hugged his leg either.

In a slow voice, as if it were swimming through molasses, he said, "Get in. We're going now."

"What?" Law said, but Cora-san had already picked him up, set him protesting into the rowboat. Baby Five exchanged glances with Buffalo for a beat, before he shrugged and scrabbled in as well, asking if there'd be food. Baby was edging towards the prow quickly now, alarmed at being left behind. She tiptoed around the swirling waters, hesitating as she glanced at Cora-san again.

"Where are we going?"

Cora-san picked her up too. Deposited her on a bench, before stepping in himself. He didn't answer her question until he'd already broken the line tying the boat to shore, and the sail had unfurled with a noisy snap.

"Away.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"You hurt me first," he had whispered in that bunkroom, "You've been hurting me all my life. You don't mean to, but it's the truth. I know of all the terrible things you've done, the thoughts that fester in your mind...I'm the one who has to know you, Doffy, and it's never done anything for me but break my heart...I'm just so fucking tired, so sick..."_

 _He breathed, wet and shuddering._

 _"I can't bear to know you anymore."_


	17. law: quam tristis

_**law: quam tristis - "how sad"**_

* * *

They pitched through the waves for what seemed forever. Cora-san spread his coat on the floor for them to sleep on. Law didn't think he'd actually slept himself.

At dawn, Baby and Buffalo doodled pictures in the damp, salt-crusted rims of the boat, spotting glittery fish scales in the surf or what they swore was the gaping maw of a sea king. They sang rhymes and odd ditties Jora had taught them, or the riddles Senor Pink liked to occasionally frustrate them with. ("Deep as the ocean, plain as a cup, and all the king's men couldn't pull me up...")

Law listened to them sporadically, their voices drifting in and out of the white noises of the day. He stared more at Cora-san's head. The man was seated at the stern, a towering bulk of feathers and gold that moved only to adjust the sails. He'd chain-smoked through an entire carton already. Hadn't yet spoken a word.

"What keeps coming but never arrives?" Baby was asking, a giddy flash of teeth as Buffalo scratched his head, "What isn't to be judged by its size?"

Law slid off the bench. He kept his sea legs with some effort, looking towards the towering before him.

"Where are we really going?"

Silence. Law climbed onto the bench beside Cora-san, peered up into his face. It was bloodless in pallor, but maybe that was only from the stark hue of the face-paint. The baking-hot tint of the sun.

"Is it a mission?"

Cora-san clamped a cigarette between his teeth, loosening the sail to catch a tangy breeze. The boat turned due west as the pulleys jimmied. Baby cried out at the sudden shift, windmilling to keep from falling overboard. A spooked fish jumped out inches from her face and she shrieked. Buffalo near convulsed with laughter. He called to Law, asked if he'd saw that. Law ignored him.

"Why'd we leave in the middle of the night?"

A bloom of smoke spilled from Cora-san's lips. He re-cinched the knots and resumed staring at nothing in particular. Law's face fell slightly in confusion. He kicked his feet for a minute, staring at the boat floor, brow scrunched carefully in thought.

"...I don't feel good."

"How so?" As soon as Cora-san turned, Law jumped on his wrist, small fingers in the sleeve.

"You weren't listening," he declared. Didn't even feel too sorry at the look of disapproval he was given.

"Don't mess around," Cora-san said, and checked Law's forehead anyway. Law squinted, rubbing his bangs out of his face as they popped loose from his hat.

"Where are we going?" he asked again, returning to his hold quickly, using every ounce of energy to keep his grip. Cora-san didn't try to tug himself free. He definitely could have in hindsight, no matter how determined Law was. But he just sighed and switched his cigarette to his free hand. There was no answer for a long time.

"To find you a cure, Law."

He blinked, staring up with a puzzled frown. The look wasn't returned. No further explanation was given. Law glanced over his shoulder, where the beach of Spider Miles had long since vanished, leaving only a ray-shimmering horizon behind. He chewed his lip.

"Then...why'd we leave?"

Cora-san's mouth pressed close. It was a red, needle-thin line.

"Nothing left that way," he said softly.

 _Nothing left?_ Law thought. _But the ship's that way. The Family, actual beds, food. Your brother. What do you mean nothing left that way?_

But he nodded, as if he'd understood. He couldn't remain a silly little boy when he was in line to be the Family's right-hand man. He had to be an adult and this was what they did, right? Pretended to know things they had no actual clue about.

Cora-san turned from the sun.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Mid-noon, a grand swathe of paradise birds glided overhead. Baby Five and Buffalo laughed, enchanted by the colors, the golden spread of feathers and chirping. They were beautiful and they sang and Law recalled out of nowhere how Lammy had loved them at the zoos. How distraught she'd been when she learned of their clipped wings. That was why they were silent, she'd murmured, holding his hand. Because they were surrounded by limitless sky, churning and blue, but would never know more than a wrought-iron cage. What would there be to say?

Law didn't think of his sister as often as before. It's probably why it hurt more than ever.

He drew up his legs, curled on the splash-soaked deck, as if it could help him weather the ache. But his vision prickled. His heart creaked. He wondered again if she'd suffered terribly and heat blurred the corners of his eyes.

An ankle blinked him out of the past, bumping softly against his spine.

"You like birds, kiddo?" Cora-san asked.

Law's head sunk low. He shrugged.

"They're better out here."

"What do you mean?"

"In the world," he said, "...They sing. 'Cause they're free, I guess."

Cora-san rested a hand on his head-a familiar weight by then. Oddly cool and quieting. Light as a ripple. He smelled like smoke and the sea, it occurred to Law. Not like the sweet, cloying scent of his brother, who burned with a molten-star's rage.

"Hm, that was deep."

He bucked the hand off, whipping around, hollowed cheeks stained red. "Oh, whatever! You're the one who asked!"

Cora-san chuckled, holding off the onslaught of little fists.

"I know, Law," he murmured, "Relax."

And then with nonchalance, he reached down and wiped the tears from Law's eyes with a thumb. Didn't even blink when Law flinched and glanced at him in bafflement. Just smiled a little and said, "You're okay."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"Keep going." I'd remember later. Months later. Years later. Then and now. Forever._

 _"...you've gotta keep going, Law. Don't look back. Not for anyone. You're free now, kid. Free..."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

The vulture swooped out from behind a rockface. Materialized essentially from nowhere. It stalked the perimeter, midnight shade and pale wrinkled neck, unnerving in its colossal size. Baby Five gasped, but it was Buffalo who screamed.

"It's gonna eat 'em!" he yelled, with the confused voice of one split between horror and excitement. Baby hugged her skinny legs, hands crossed over her mouth. She hid her chin in the valley of her knees.

Two birds were sheared from the rest of the flock. Buffalo shouted again, practically jumped up and down and made the entire boat lean. Law watched them collide into each other in their panic and plunge towards the waves, both stunned. They spiraled in the reflection of his eyes, like pieces of crumpled gold ribbon. Air caught on the hooks of his throat. The vulture crowed and dived for them. Its gnarled talons were extended, the dusty cape spread.

A shot fired into the clouds.

All three of them jumped a mile. Almost harder than the vulture which curtailed at the noise, halting its descent. In one giant flapping arc, it fled the opposite way without pause.

Cora-san lowered his arm, the pistol loose in his hand.

The rest of the flock streamed towards their boat, the flap of their wings thudding overhead as they escaped. Buffalo was distracted immediately, clapping his hands like an infant. Law stared at Cora-san, who reclasped the flintlock to his belt. It was the first time Law had ever seen him use it.

"Look!" Baby said and pointed towards the sloshing crests, where the two slender birds had disappeared. One burst from the water, soaked wings beating furiously and screeched. Law didn't think it could lift itself any higher, but then it climbed into the sky with a desperate, stubborn fury and raced after the flock.

"Where's the other one?" Buffalo said and they all squinted at the water, trying to make out a sign. When it still didn't surface another ten seconds later, Baby's face crumpled. She wrung her hands and asked if they should dive after it, at least try to save it somehow. It was more to herself than anyone else. She knew it was dead. They weren't the type of children who didn't know that.

"Cora-san?" she whispered anyway and there was a sigh.

"You can't save what's gone," he said. Sad, but simple.

And his gaze was on the sky, instead of the sea.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The world trembled at twilight. Law was turning down Baby's offer to share a can of peaches, picking at his own provisions with meager appetite. Cora-san steered the boat. There was a crescent of land in the horizon, folding along the red sunset. The air was thicker than the open ocean and smelled vaguely of marshes.

The vulture was not the last giant animal they came across, as they traveled into the more obscure regions of the New World. Pods of island whales breached and played in the blue. The barnacle-laden snout of a bananawani drifted by, miming an absurdly long log. Shadows of sea kings hunted in the depths.

Law was mystified and beyond awed. He'd only seen such creatures in the single tome Doflamingo had had on marine life. That one book with enough pictures for Baby Five and Buffalo to fight him tooth and nail over every other night. Doflamingo must've read it to them at least three-dozen times just for some peace. It'd probably been the last thing he'd read to them too. He hadn't been in the mood for almost a year now, ever since they'd raided that Mariejois ship on the broad side of winter. Law didn't understand why.

And in his secret heart, he could admit he missed it.

It was around that quiet thought that the elephant appeared. Marching through the fog like an unearthly tank, with steps so heavy they resembled quakes and a trunk the length of a castle keep. Trilling white gulls nested in the flaps of its rough, gray skin, reclining on mossy tusks as they ploughed through the cloud columns.

Baby dropped the peach can. Syrupy juice splashed onto Buffalo's pants and the front of Law's shoes. Neither of them noticed.

"...Cora-san," Buffalo whispered, "What's that?"

There was no reply for so long that Law peeked over his shoulder just to make sure Cora-san hadn't tumbled overboard. But he was there. As pop-eyed as the rest of them, cigarette gone from his lips.

"...It's Zunesha," he muttered.

"What?"

It trumpeted-a deep, barking roar that Law felt vibrate through every cell of his body. The entire ocean seemed to ripple and he fumbled for the edge of the boat, almost terrified they were going to cap-size. Buffalo yelped and Baby Five made no sound at all. She simply ran to Cora-san and took up position around his calf, pressing her face against the pantleg.

"H-Haha, you're such a girl, Baby," Buffalo said immediately, trying to bury his own squeak of terror. But he was edging their way too, despite all his bravado, and Law scrabbled towards the prow to at least try and keep the vessel balanced.

Closer now, he thought he could see glowing holes for eyes sunken into its fog-obscured face. The thing bellowed again. It was a sound that seemed to try and shake apart heaven. Like a message was in there. A warning.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(On the North Blue, Doflamingo sat up violently. His muscles were tight and his chest already heaving before his eye flicked open. The soft towel fell from his face without his notice.

Not when it landed in his lap. Not when it dropped on the floor as he slid off the bed, staggering for a moment and disoriented. It took him several seconds to realize he was in one of the ship's bunkrooms. Or that he'd managed to lose a whole day since the sky outside was streaked in pink. His memory was a whirlpool of stray fragments. The moon. Vergo. Baby humming with the rain. Window glass. A rose. The moon again.

Useless. Doflamingo's brow creased very slightly. Missing banks of time never boded well.

He swept from the room, passing the table top without a thought. Left the rose where it'd been gently laid. Limp and browned. Long, long dead.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

When Cora-san started laughing, Law honestly thought he'd lost his mind.

"God, I can't believe it. It's Zunesha."

"What's a Zunesha?" Baby Five whimpered.

"That's his name, Baby," Cora-san said, a hand in his hair to brush it out of his eyes. He had that dumb grin spreading across his face and Law felt his chest loosen. He hadn't seen Cora-san really smile in a long time.

"Is it gonna kill us?" Buffalo hissed.

Cora-san shook his head. He was leaning back, more relaxed now and bringing out his smokes for the fiftieth time. "Only if we ask for it."

"Does he live in the ocean?" Baby Five said, still clinging to his leg. Her eyes were glued to the lumbering beast on the horizon. "Where's his home?"

"Doesn't have one. He's a wanderer. Legend goes he committed a terrible crime in his past and was condemned to walk the New World for eternity."

"Eternity?" they murmured, together without intention, as if they had the vaguest conception of the word.

Cora-san looked a little amused. "Eternity. And he's already been walking a long time. Even before the Void Century. His steps carved out the seabeds, made a place for every living thing that swims or crawls in the waves. His way of atoning I'm sure."

Their eyes widened and they watched Zunesha for a moment in silence. The creature was wading further out toward the Grand Line, where the sky had already bled into a lake of violet. His legs sliced methodically through the sea, summoning tidal waves that rocked their boat even with the miles in between. Baby Five and Buffalo were awed for all of twenty seconds before Zunesha trumpeted again, a sound this time like boulders splitting open. Then Baby was scurrying into Cora-san's lap, while Buffalo tried to subtly become one with his feathered coat.

Law remained. He crawled to the very edge of the prow for a better look, possessed with inexplicable curiosity.

"You're gonna fall in, Law," Baby called, nervous, as Buffalo grunted that it would serve him right for being stupid. Law paid them no mind.

There was a strange tingling in his blood, flowing through his heart like a current. He was suddenly wondering after all the other stories he'd heard from the Family-Lao G and Senor Pink's drunken fables about mermaids, Jora's paintings of giants and faeries, the intricate tales of the seas Doflamingo had a thousand of when he humored them. Now they raced through his mind.

"You know," Cora-san's voice drifted out, "There's also a story that Zunesha carries an entire civilization on his back."

Law looked back. Cora-san was flicking his lighter.

"...really?"

The lighter sparked. Cora-san sucked in a lungful of smoke while Buffalo frantically put out the flaming coat he was sheltering in.

"'s called the Kingdom of Zou. Home of the Mink tribe. Almost no one's gotten close enough to Zunesha to really document the place..."

Law blinked, turning around again to squint at the silhouette. The receding light and distance made it impossible to make out clearly, but he thought there was something on Zunesha's back-a bump or shape of some kind half-obscured by the fog. He wasn't sure if it was just his mind construing them into the roofs of buildings. If maybe he was even wishing for it.

Law was realizing for the first time just how much of the world he'd never seen. That a world could even exist beyond Flevance and the Family and be one he had yet to hate.

"...but it _does_ exist," Cora-san said, "It is out there. Always has been. Waiting, you know? Strange as it seems."

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The giant porthole in the hall was smashed into pieces, glass across the floor glowing like star fragments under a sinking sun. Doflamingo cocked his head. He remembered now stepping from the window of his room, hurtling down the Sky Path over the sea. His vision going wobbly and blood-dark, while his brain skewered itself repeatedly on a nail. _The MarinesTheMarinesTheMarines..._

And Rosi.

Doflamingo's expression tightened. Wind howled through the gaping space, lifting his coat and hair. Doflamingo stalked through the shards, his steps crunching them into the floorboards with their weight. The door was shut and silent when he reached it, a mere norm at this point. The damn thing had all but replaced his brother's face.

Doflamingo's lips parted. He wanted an explanation. There had to be-there _had_ to be a reason.

Yet for another stiff beat, he merely lingered there, strange reluctance stalling his tongue. His brother was still angry with him. Doflamingo knew this much, even if he was starting to lose grasp of why. The more time marched on, the more justified he became.

 _I did it for us._ Some small, exhausted inch of him wanted to say. _For you. Why was that wrong? Come out, look at me, say something, Rosi, it hurts..._

"Doffy?"

A hand landed on his shoulder and Doflamingo whipped around like a startled beast. Nearly tore a chunk out of Vergo's face if the man had reacted a mite slower. As it happened, he stumbled back a step before immediately crowding forward to hold Doflamingo by the forearms.

"There you are. We were searching all over the island."

His stoic features were pinched at the corners with concern. Doflamingo frowned and shoved him away. Why did Vergo think he could touch him already after what he'd said?

A wounded look flashed at him for the briefest of seconds. Doflamingo stared back coolly, dared Vergo to address it. He didn't. Just stilled for a moment before retracting his hands and taking a compliant step backwards. "Something's happened."

Doflamingo's brow lifted. He listened to Vergo's report about the missing dinghy, Baby and Buffalo, Law...

"They ran away?" he muttered, but knew that wasn't the case even as he said it. The door behind him was suddenly looming. A jaw stretching to swallow him. The blue disc of his right eye slid over, the left one hung dead at its center. An odd hum was stirring in his skull.

Vergo opened his mouth. "Doffy, he-"

 _CRACK_

The door snapped in half, folding as if made out of cloth and smashing off the jamb, splintering again when it struck the room wall. Wood shards sprayed like an open artery, spattering against the already blanketed ground. Vergo went quiet. Doflamingo lowered his foot. He strode in slowly.

The room was empty. The bunk untouched. The desk clean of strewn lighters and stuffed ashtrays. The window was shut, sealing the space into a vaccum which left the air stale and acrid. On the sill was a small square of paper.

Vergo walked over, unfolding it carefully. After a moment, he turned to Doflamingo, holding it out for him when he simply stared and made no move to take it.

Doflamingo could not comprehend what he was reading. _His mind had turned, interlocking gears cycling, and he had jammed a crowbar in right away..._

A full minute passed before he lifted his hand, crumpling the note beneath his shivering thumb.

"Go get them," he heard himself whisper, "We're leaving."

Vergo nodded without a word. In a click of his heels, he was down the hall, heading for the staircase leading above deck.

Doflamingo did not hear his footsteps fade. The world had vanished into a different plane for him, left it mute and airless as he stared at the note. Just two words, written in the familiar slant of Rosi's handwriting.

 _I'm sorry._

The crowbar twisted, humming softly.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Numberless leagues away, Rosinante's head shot up, the cigarette slipping from his hand into the water. A chill had riveted down his skin, so jagged and sudden that he jerked and made Buffalo and Baby blink at him.

"Cora-san?"

"We need to go," he said and was already groping for the rope, untying the knots with his heart in his throat. Doffy had realized they were gone. Rosinante couldn't explain how, but he knew it then better than his own name. He fumbled for the sail lines, trying to force his clumsy fingers to cooperate.

Baby and Buffalo sagged with relief. A glimmer of disappointment drifted by Law's eyes.

The boy didn't protest however, only taking one final bemused glance at Zunesha, who was fanning his tattered ears. Rosinante quickly rotated the sails into the formed gales. He didn't particularly care where they were propelled then, so long as the miles kept adding. He'd get these kids out of here. Didn't matter if it was the last thing he ever did. Doffy couldn't have his way.

 _Should've lied in that note then,_ his own voice murmured at him and Rosinante stiffened.

He paused for only a moment, before turning back to work. The children watched Zunesha raise his trunk, spraying water over his back like a hose. The beast shrunk steadily into a speck on the horizon.

 _Shouldn't have said you were sorry._

But he _was_ sorry. Endlessly so.

It was only how much that he had yet to realize.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _We would travel to West Blue first and make our way up the island chains until hitting North Blue again. Cora-san didn't even bring a map. He navigated blind, based solely on a cluster of stars. Most of the time, I had no idea where we were. Looking back now, I'm not sure he did either. Maybe that was the point._

 _Cora-san had meant what he'd said to Baby at the beginning. The destination didn't matter so much as the distance. And because he still thought his brother as big as the world, there wasn't a place existing that was far enough away._

 _He really believed we were running from a monster._

 _It must've hurt like hell._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(They visited hospitals in the West Blue. Rosinante didn't know what he'd been expecting, his only recollection of such places being a doctor ruffling his hair and a nurse with his mother's eyes lifting him onto a cushioned table. Sengoku had been a couple feet away, holding his hand, always staying in his line of sight.

Maybe the world had changed.

The doctors and nurses took a single glance at Law. Sometimes they screeched, arms covering their mouth and nose as if the boy had polluted even the air. Sometimes, they sneered and waved their hands, asked loudly how anyone from such a godforsaken place could've survived. They told Law to never return. Told him he was going to die. Wouldn't believe Rosinante when he explained the disease wasn't contagious, wouldn't even examine Law, let alone treat him.

The prospect of a cure made them laugh. Rosinante would never forget that.

And Law took it. He stared at his feet and bore the cruelty without a sound. Sometimes, when Rosinante's temper began to flay he tugged on the hem of his shirt and asked if they could go. He didn't cry. He didn't say a word. It was so wrong. It fucking broke his heart.

"Don't give up," Rosinante said, kneeling in front of the child, hands on those tiny shoulders. "No matter what we're not giving up, okay? The next one will be better. The next one for sure, I know it. You believe me?"

Law nodded. And there were questions burning in his eyes, shining almost like tears. He was too much a coward though to address any of them.

Why are we doing this?

Why now?

Where are we running?)

* * *

xxx

* * *

Baby and Buffalo stopped wanting to come in after the first few trips. The boredom and stench of antiseptic kept them sitting at a wall or gatepost outside. They weren't having fun anymore, growing increasingly nervous at the constant stops. Most of the kingdoms they visited were either flooded with Marines or contained a naval base. Buffalo began speculating on what the Family was eating during mealtimes, if Jora's meat pie was on the table or Lao G's fried dumplings. Baby Five was scared of every shadow or turned head. She mistook almost anything for the Marine insignia and clung to Cora-san's leg with renewed fervor.

"When do you think we'll go home?" she whispered one night, sharing a bunk with Law, as Buffalo lay in the bed across. Cora-san hardly ever slept these days and was gone from the inn rooms more times than not. When he wasn't dragging Law to every hospital and healer within radius, he was asking constantly about someone named "Barrels," scanning newspapers well into the morning. Law wondered if Cora-san was on a mission after all.

"Whenever Law stops being sick," Buffalo muttered, "So never." The resentment struck out of his tone like hot flint. Baby Five shushed him. She turned to check if he'd heard. He stared at the wall and pretended to sleep.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(There was a boy in his dreams. Golden hair and black shades. Pale and savage-eyed and grinning. Cross-legged in an ashen valley on an alter carved for sacrifice.

"Rosi," he called, and patted the spot beside him. His feet hung still. He was wet all over, red everywhere, even in his teeth and dripping through the cracks into his mouth. Rosinante stared at a spot three inches to the left of his temple. His breath creaked and misted in the air.

"Sit down, little brother."

He sat.

The head was leaning against Doffy's side, settled there like an idle toy. Instead of speaking, his brother only hummed, playful Mariejois rhymes about setting slaves aflame.

"I saw Zunesha," Rosinante found himself saying just to make him stop, "Out on the New World sea."

His brother paused.

"That's good," he said, in that blank, indulgent croon he used when Rosinante told him something he either couldn't recall or didn't care about.

"You use to tell me the stories about him," Rosinante said, "All the time. Every night, don't you remember? Said we'd go see him for ourselves one day."

Doffy craned his head towards the inky sky, blood rolling down his matted hair and along the delicate youthful curves of his face. There was a grainy spot of light above them in the abysmal plains, like a channel of sun just visible from an ancient cradle of seabed. "We were freezing to death. I told you whatever I could think of. It was just distraction. I couldn't warm you in the way you wanted. You said I was colder than all the nights combined."

"I didn't mean that," Rosinante whispered, "You know I didn't mean that."

Doffy snickered, still smiling at the light like he found it amusing. The subject was changed.

"Oh, I'm gonna be so mad. You shouldn't have left that note. Veeery stupid of you."

"I know it was stupid."

"Suicidal too."

Doffy's smile was gone. Rosinante's shoulders slumped, too heavy to stay upright. "I couldn't leave without a word," he said, after a moment. "Didn't know how."

"Funny, I seem to remember you managed just fine the first time."

He sighed.

"...I'm sorry."

"So you keep saying." Doffy turned and something swam in the reflection of his lens. Teeth. Strands of spider silk. "But are you? Maybe you just wanted to be free of me, Rosi. Maybe you couldn't stand anymore the truth of what I am and wanted to be shut of it all. You went to have your lovely, innocent little childhood with the Marines and left me here alone. Seems a tad unfair, doesn't it?"

"Unfair?" Rosinante stared into the dark. "You're all I'm going to get and you're a monster. They made you my whole life. I don't even know if I ever had one of my own. How was that fair either?"

Doffy just shrugged. Peered at him inquisitively.

"...What do you suppose I'll do to you?"

There was a shuffling noise beyond the hazy rim of light, somewhere in the shadows. A rat creeping. Mud oozing. Rosinante didn't answer.

"Why did you leave? I was coming back for you. We were suppose to be together."

"I couldn't take it."

"Take what?" he giggled, held out the head on a strip of yellow hair. "This? My god, little brother, you're so _emotional._ It's just meat."

"How could you do it?"

"I am what I am."

"You killed our father. All those poor people. You made me shoot a defenseless man. Right in front of his child."

"Yeah, but wasn't it funny?" Doffy swung his legs, sat the head back down beside him with a 'squelch.' "They got what they deserved. You'll see. When I find you."

"If you find me."

"When I find you, Rosi." His brother smiled. "When.")


	18. vale

**vale - "goodbye"**

* * *

 _"Mind your brother," they use to say. All the time. Repeated injections._

 _"Watch out for your brother."_

 _"Go with your brother please."_

 _"Doffy, you have a job now..."_

 _"Doffy, please."_

 _"You need to take care of him. Listen closely to what he wants. You have to make him happy. It's not important why."_

 _"Where is your brother?"_

 _"Doffy, where is he?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

This wasn't happening. Doflamingo had decided so, very abruptly at the beginning. He had no other coherent conclusions otherwise.

The Family nodded along. They spoke in gentle, appeasing tones and gave him lots of space. Like he was a wild animal they were all trapped on board with. Doflamingo was beyond caring. Rage was obliviating him. He couldn't hold onto any tangential thought for more than a second.

 _Where is he?_

Gonegonegonegone. Rosi was gone. Again. Doflamingo hadn't even asked why the first time, not what happened or where he'd ended up. Even though the question had been haunting him for literal years. Even though it was an answer he _deserved._ He still refrained. He hadn't asked. He'd done that for him. And this was his repayment? Thought he could just turn heel and vanish again? Oh, no, it didn't work that way.

"Doffy, this is as close as we can get to port," Pica squeaked. Doflamingo whipped around, teeth bared. The executives stood in a huddle on deck, almost three and a half meters away from him. The other Family members had scattered like bugs from a torchlight.

"Why?"

"It's a naval base city," Diamante answered quietly, after no one spoke for an endless minute, "Our immunity doesn't stretch that far."

"So?"

Diamante glanced at Trebol and Pica, who were each focused on something rigidly in the distance. No help coming, Diamante turned to Doflamingo with reluctant eyes.

"...Why don't we try the Grand Line again? I mean, they were on a dinghy with no map, they couldn't have gotten to the West Blue already."

He shook his head. Over his shoulder was the island kingdom of Vale, the steel blue croppings of buildings and rooftops spread out in the sea-misted distance. Along the official quay, marine tankers sat in somber rows, positioned fore like hunting dogs waiting for release.

Somewhere in that city was Rosi. This one or a neighboring one. He was here, in the West Blue, Doflamingo was dead certain. June was nearing its end and there was no conceivable way his brother was still bobbing around the Grand Line with Law in that condition. Rosi could be innovative when he wanted to be. He was _irrational_ and artless and _simple,_ but his brother wasn't stupid. He merely played a fool. And he didn't need a map. Doflamingo had been the one after all, who had taught him the stars.

 _You took what is mine,_ he thought over and over again, until it grew tangled and confused, _You took what is mine and you're getting in my way and you_ _ **are**_ _mine..._

"Move us forward."

Pica's eyes went wide. Diamante's jaw dropped.

"B-But Doffy-"

"Do it."

"Marines are crawling all over this place, you can't just-"

"I _can't?"_

The water stirred. Haki crimped the edges of the railing, made the surface crumple like dents in a metal can. Diamante went quieter than the grave. He made no further attempt to argue, but it didn't appease Doflamingo. Not at all. Nothing did.

Since when had all these different people started giving him orders? You can't do this, you can't do that, you must wait. Can'tcan'tcan't. Waitwaitwait. He was a king, he was a _god,_ how dare anyone tell him what he could or couldn't do, tell him to _wait_ -

Inexplicably, his eyes zeroed in on the long, dripping blue coat, where it dragged and puddled on the floor, half-concealing itself in Pica's shadow. The ropes of mucus were hanging lower and heavier than usual. Doflamingo tilted his head, vein pulsing across his cheekbone.

"You got nothing to say now, Trebol?" he said, taking a step forward, "No more _comments_ to make?"

"No, Doffy," the man rasped, shaking his head. He was sweating all over, in fat rivulets that made his skin look like it was melting. The spindly knuckles around his cane were gray. Doflamingo's pupils shrank. A thought struck him out of the dark.

"Was it you?"

He took another step. "Trebol, was it you?" His fingers ghosted out, pulse thudding between his eyes.

 _Did you make Rosi leave?_

"Doffy." Diamante's face was bone white. "Doffy, we'll get it handled. C...can ya please calm down?"

Doflamingo turned, the thought disintegrating in the distraction. His hand dropped back to his side. Trebol eyed it in sweat-iced silence. A beat passed.

"...can I calm down?"

He snickered suddenly, low and molten-hot. The railing gave with a piercing screech, twisting into a pretzel and tumbling into the depths. A slip of a breeze poured through the area, rustling blood-flecked feathers.

"You haven't found my brother," Doflamingo said softly, "You haven't found my brats. So ask me again, I dare you, and _let's find out._ "

But Diamante did not ask again. A deep, horrible silence was to follow, before the cabin door opened. Vergo stepped from the groaning bowels of the ship, hands folded neatly behind his back. He regarded the scene without expression.

"Let me go instead, Doffy," he said, sunglasses catching the weak, cloud-dissolved rays. Doflamingo regarded him with a taut jaw. He hadn't asked Vergo to stay, but the man had insisted on it.

"You?"

"Yes. The Vale base is an outpost. The Admirals are at headquarters and most senior officials on islands around the Archipelago. I'll outrank any commanding officers here. Could go through the city and get the answers you want. We'll find them."

He twitched, the furrow of his brow smoothing faintly. The idea had merit, but Vergo wasn't the only vice admiral sailing in nearby waters. Tsuru was always dogging the perimeters of the New World. Always out there scrutinizing his every move. It'd been a month since Rosi left, but he couldn't yet gauge how much the rest of the world knew...

"Fine. Be discreet."

Vergo nodded without question. "As you wish."

If just a mite, Doflamingo's face softened, his rage wavering for a spare second or two. He could acknowledge that losing his temper with Vergo earlier had been a mistake. In the end, he was the only one that could ever be truly relied upon. The sole competent person in the whole fucking universe right now too, as it would seem.

"Don't disappoint me."

"Never," came the response, blank, but with unfathomable gravity.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(There was a strangeness to being in the Heart suite again. Not attachment per se, Vergo wasn't a man who regarded inanimate objects with any measure of sentiment, but instead more of...an irony. Rosinante had lived in this room for four years following him. Presumably, he would have left his mark behind and yet the walls were just as barren, the table and bed just as unruffled and empty. If not for the stench of smoke and the obliterated door, Vergo would've thought the room had been virtually untouched since his departure.

Simply showed again, he thought, that the man had never belonged here. Never had the right to be at Doffy's side, but for a matter of blood.

Vergo had to halt in pulling on his coat, massaging out an errant wrinkle of fury. At the same time, footsteps came to the gaping doorway.

"What have you done?" Diamante hissed and trudged inside, Trebol slithering in behind. A hard slab of stone slid down the threshold, sealing off light and noise from the corridor and submerging the Heart Suite in unnatural silence. Vergo turned, facing the other executives. He saw the craggy outline of Pica's face in the walled up doorway now, taking shape amongst the stones.

He did not blink. "What was best for our king."

Diamante laughed, half-tinged in hysteria. "Oh, yeah, he sounded beyond fucking thrilled up there." A skeletal hand clutched lank brown hair, tugged at it in anxiety. "God, why'd you even tell me about this? If Doffy finds out what you did, we're all dead. He's gonna-god, he's gonna-"

"No, he won't," Vergo said. "Not to us. We're his family."

A gaping look at him. "You think he'd pick us over Corazón? They're _obsessed_ with each other. You know he never actually got over the bastard's disappearance that first-"

"Yes, he did." Vergo said, hands closing slowly, "He got over it. He didn't need that fool. He had us." _He had me._

Diamante just shook his head, half-collapsing against the table. "What've you done?" he moaned again.

Vergo's brow creased. He did not particularly care for justifying himself to Diamante and turned to the other figure in the room, whose skin still blotched from its previous terror-induced sweat.

"He was ruining him, Trebol. As you said. I made the move you were too afraid to."

His only reply was silence for a brief stint. Then, in a voice nervous and tight, Trebol said, "It wasn't the right time."

"It never would have been."

"You're lucky he ran."

"Lucky? He was always going to run. How else do you catch a rat aside from dangling bait in front of the nest?"

"You were dangling our necks," Trebol spat, "All you had was a hunch."

Vergo gave that some thought. Perhaps that was true. A bit anyway. He'd bargained on the fact that Rosinante would run. He was like a wheel, turning round and round, repeating himself. A safety net of probability. Rosinante could not handle Doffy's nature. Could not accept who he was. He'd never been able to and Vergo knew in all the ways that counted that he'd run.

"You are backtracking, Trebol. How often have you insinuated Rosinante was disloyal?"

That made both Diamante and Trebol stiffen hard. Their twitching eyes swerved to the blocked off door, where Pica's thorny head hung like a decrepit work of art.

"Still shouldn't have stirred the pot, Vergo," it added, voice piercingly high, "We follow what Doffy wants. That's all."

"This _is_ what he wants." _Whether he knows it yet or not..._

"Are you losin' it too?" Diamante's gaze was incredulous. "And more importantly, I don't think you're appreciating the difference between a ten year old boy with that kind of temper and a full-grown man. Especially when he's ten feet tall and slicing buildings open with his goddamn _leg._ "

Vergo's lips pursed. Trebol cut in, before he could respond.

"You better not find him," he hissed, "Better hope Doffy doesn't either. Remember, Vergo. In the end, we had nothing to do with it. And you acted alone."

Diamante and Pica nodded instantly, like such plain denial hadn't occurred to them. Vergo wasn't perturbed. His allegiance wasn't to them. It mattered not what they thought. So it'd been unorthodox. So he had lied. It _paled_ in comparison to what Rosinante had done. Whoever he had done it for, though Vergo's suspicions were ample.

Doffy's too, he'd no doubt.

And there was but one rule in the Donquixote Family.

Only one.

"Why should I hope for that?" he said, "If Rosinante's found, we'll just drag him back. Bring him before Doffy. And enjoy the show.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

In his quarters, Doflamingo gripped his head. The noise would not dispel, swelled like a column of fire.

 _You know where he's gone._

 _Why he's gone, you_ _ **know**_ _why he's_

In the corner, a flicker of something gathered, formed into a long, ratty shirt and a golden mop of hair. Rosi at eight years old. Doflamingo's blood went cold. He stumbled out before the eyes could take shape and open. But he thought it spoke anyway, tiny palm stretching after him. Childishly high voice. Absurdly innocent.

Trust me still, brother mine?

Trust me still?

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _They did not fight often. There was not time or energy enough for fighting. They had to rotate as lookout, had to give each other boosts over barbed wire and alley walls, had to sleep on the same bug-infested mattress and curl close for warmth in a shack riddled with holes. It was hard to do such things while angry at each other. Even harder still in silence._

 _Most of the problems they did have though, began with Doflamingo. He snapped occasionally when Rosinante tripped, when he dropped the dumpster lid too loudly and forced them to flee. He was frustrated beyond words sometimes with his brother's clumsiness, emotions raw and red from this tattered wreck they had for a life._

 _Rosinante did not argue. He let him vent, knowing his brother needed it on some instinctual level. He didn't get angry back at Doflamingo, even when he was being unfair. Just gave him his space and sat there waiting for him to return. Doflamingo always did. He never apologized, never admitted he was wrong, but he always came back._

 _Always let Rosinante lean against him afterwards. And gave his hand when it was asked for._

* * *

xxx

* * *

They retreated from the shallower waters once Vergo disembarked for Vale. Doflamingo had gotten his hands on the last casket of wine (Law must've dumped the rest, that little shit) and was chugging it manically. Jora and Machvise implored him to slow down. Gladius recited liver facts at him and Lao G offered his tea collection instead.

Doflamingo was going to do something he'd regret if they didn't all get out _right now._

Almost like he knew, Senor Pink entered the lounge. A pastel yellow pacifier was in one hand and a Den Den Mushi in the other. He stuck the former in his mouth, suckling, speaking around it as if it were a toothpick instead.

"It's for you, Young Master," he said, offering the snail, gave the rest of the Family a look, "Private call."

They filed out immediately, without even being told. Ants in a row. Senor Pink brushed the lace of the bonnet from his face. Doflamingo took the Den Den Mushi, staring at him. His limp, unwashed hair, his softening physique.

"We'll go back," Doflamingo said without understanding why, "To the graves. After all this. If you want."

Senor Pink smiled a short hollow smile. "'s not about what I want anymore." And shut the door behind him, left the lounge empty and still. Doflamingo returned his gaze to the snail.

Its eyes were open. A cool, clear and deep steel that he recognized with unfortunate and instant familiarity. Doflamingo forced on a grin, even as his eyes widened behind his frames.

"Tsuru-san. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

("The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure," Tsuru said, standing at the prow of the tanker. The clouded day obscured most of the horizon, but she could just see the bare outline of the Donquixote ship, sitting on the outskirts of Vale's harbor like a banished ghost. It was no longer the garish, bombastic flamingo their captain had taken such a fondness too. This model was a more traditional variety, something older she knew he'd taken back as a teenager. A dark, behemoth of a tetanus hazard.

She could only imagine how it groaned.

"Do you think you're being cute, boy? Coming into naval waters. Your immunity's getting stripped soon."

Replaced with a warlord offer, she was aware, though Tsuru saw no reason to inform him. She still seethed just from the proposal. Had spoken out with vehemence at the meeting. They should not be trying to appease a tantruming child already so distorted by indulgences and who couldn't be appeased anyway. He didn't need more power.

From her standpoint, the only thing Doflamingo needed now were daily doses and a padded cell.

"Fufufu, I did catch word." The snail's mouth curled. "What could I have done to upset the lot of you so?"

"What's your business here?" she said simply, ignoring the bait.

"A man can't just go on a sail?"

"You're not here on a sail."

"Says who. Why are you even calling?"

Tsuru's brow tilted slightly. There was strain in the boy's tone, almost undetectable but for how little a mystery he was to her these days.

With almost a sigh, she readjusted the draped coat over her shoulders. Sengoku had informed her of Rosinante's earlier call, how distraught he'd been, how he had the Donquixote children with him and wanted her to take them to safety. Sengoku could not even get a word in, let alone learn of what happened. It had left the old codger quite baffled and upset himself.

And Tsuru supposed now, in a way, she'd come to check up on the other side. To see how it fared. Maybe that's why she called.

So she tested just a bit more.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Is your brother well?"

Doflamingo flinched, startled for the increment of a second. Tsuru did not seem to notice. Her gaze though was unblinking, resoundingly shrewd. He recovered quickly.

"Heh, what is this. Are you concerned about our family affairs now?"

There was a scoff. "Such pointless talk you enjoy," she said and if he listened closely, he could hear the waves in the background, washing up against the sides of her vessel. The more serene cadence of the West Blue's open sea. She must be close, just out of sight, somewhere in the fog. His nails dug into the armrest of his chair. What could he do? He knew he had to run.

Doflamingo stood, gliding to the door, aiming to snatch the first crew member he saw and get the ship turned around.

Then Tsuru said, "I've just heard recently that he might have gone his own way."

Doflamingo froze. He gaze riveted back to the Den Den Mushi as it continued.

"Perhaps it's true, perhaps it isn't. But you know Corazón actually has considerable notoriety in his own right. Removing him from the seas has always been on our list too. I don't make a habit of negotiating with pirates, but...how about a trade, boy?"

"A trade?" he said. Heard himself say. The snail nodded.

"Share some intel on where he could be and I'll let you go this time. Afford you respite for a couple of months."

Veins sprouted across his skin.

* * *

xxx

* * *

( _"No."_

Tsuru almost blinked. "What?"

The Den Den Mushi's expression was blank to the point of disturbance, even as the voice seethed, left virtual charred pockets in the air.

"You stay away. This is all because of you people."

"Doflamingo-"

"It's all your fault," the snail's face contorted, voice faltering, "You give me back my brother."

A note of genuine distress was tunneling out of the words. Tsuru's eye widened, taken aback at how young it suddenly made him sound.

"Doflamingo," she said, voice softening, "Child, calm down."

 _"No!"_ The snail's expression twisted again. It should've been ridiculous, but it wasn't. Not at all.

"Stay away from him," Doflamingo hissed, "Or I'll fucking kill you. All of you. I _will._ "

And the line went dead.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Coooora-san, aren't you done yet?"

Rosinante sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Baby and Buffalo, both wedged in the threshold. Law stood back slightly, though no less quizzical.

"No. Just go play."

"But Cora-san, we're bored."

"And hungry," Buffalo added.

"Can't we sit with you, Cora-san?" Baby murmured, wistful, "The Young Master let me sit with him sometimes. Even when he was working."

Rosinante resisted a twitch, hands squeezing in his effort. He hoped it hadn't been too obvious. Law had been watching him more intensely with each day.

"...I'm almost done. One more hour, alright? Then we'll see about something better to eat tonight."

Baby Five drooped, but nodded. "If that's what you need of me." Buffalo rubbed his hands immediately and conjectured about dinner, having long complained of how starved he'd been, living off the protein bars and fruit cups they'd had of their provisions. Rosinante doubted he could fathom what it actually meant to be starving. How much of a godsend protein bars and fruit cups really were.

"One hour, Cora-san," Baby warned, with a strict finger, "It's a deal."

She followed Buffalo out, back into the main room of the abandoned house they were squatting in. Law turned too. Then he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

"He...does know where we are right?"

Rosinante flipped open the paper, faked engrossment in some botanical study being held at Green Bit. "Yeah."

"And you're not fighting anymore?"

He exhaled silently through his nose. "Get going, brat."

Law frowned, like he wanted to retort. But in the end, he said nothing and did as he was told.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _There was only once that Rosinante was the instigator. When Mother was dead and Father gone most hours of the day, travelling miles on foot to the next town to beg for alms. When it was just them one night, in the dead of winter, with nothing but a pool of wax for a candle._

 _Rosinante almost did not recall why he had gotten so angry. Just that Mother was dead. She was dead and she was nowhere and they'd never hear her, smell her or touch her again. That his brother had yet to cry, as if none of that meant anything to him. And that all Doflamingo craved these days was the dark while Rosinante longed for the light._

 _Maybe if he'd known how to put it into words. Or if he'd been anything but six and afraid..._

 _"How are you suppose to sleep with the candle burning?" Doflamingo said, the calmer one for once, "And we have to keep it dark, remember? What if someone sees us?"_

 _"No, no! I want it on!" Rosinante said, stomping his foot, "Then-then I'm gonna sleep outside!" It was not so much brighter outside, but there was at least the moon. At least the stars. He stormed for the door, before his brother seized his arm._

 _"You can't go out there, Rosi! It's freezing-"_

 _"It's always freezing!" He pushed Doflamingo away suddenly, hard enough that he actually stumbled. "I-It's always freezing, it's always dark, it always hurts and it's because of_ _ **you!**_ _"_

 _"What are you talking about?" Doflamingo's brows were raising, lifting above his glasses to near touch his hairline. "Rosi, you're gonna get spotted-"_

 _"I DON'T CARE!" Out of nowhere, tears started spilling from Rosinante's eyes, drenching his face. He hiccuped in his efforts to quiet his sobs. Doflamingo regarded him with utter bewilderment. He did not understand what had happened. Wasn't sure if he'd done something wrong. Annoyance gnawed at the borders of his confusion._

 _"If they catch you," he said eventually, "they're gonna beat you so bad you'll be peeing blood again for a week. Or they'll take you away and trade you, like those kids at the red house."_

 _Rosinante gripped his shirt, swallowing gasps. The wind hissed and made the dying little breath of candlelight wobble._

 _And he said, "I'd trade_ _ **you,**_ _for anyone else in the world!"_

 _The candle went out. So Rosinante never saw his brother's face then. Nor did his brother see the shock of a mistake on his own._

 _They plunged headfirst into a thick, abominable silence. Thicker even than the dark. For a moment, Rosinante stood there in blank horror. He could not even hear his brother breathe, before suddenly he could._

 _Suddenly there were footsteps, brisk and abrupt, moving to the door and Rosinante tried to say so many things at the same time that nothing came out of his mouth at all._

oh god I'm sorry Doffy I didn't mean I'm sorry that wasn't right Doffy please oh where are you going?

 _The door slammed shut._

* * *

xxx

* * *

He'd just finished the paper when Tsuru called. Not a word or clue about Barrels, or any strange incidents that could be attributed to the Ope Ope no Mi. Rosinante was fairly confident it was still out there. The bounty was so high that Barrels probably had it close at hand. Wouldn't have let anyone eat it. If he could just figure out where the man was...

"You were rash, boy."

Rosinante looked away. "Will the rendezvous spot work for you, ma'am?" was all he said.

The small Den Den Mushi blinked, Tsuru's cool eyes regarding him. "It will. Vale is very accessible to the Navy after all. I could pick up all three children if you'd prefer."

"No, just the two. The third one...he's sick. I'm taking him to get cured."

"We have the highest-grade medical facilities."

"No." Rosinante did not intend for his voice to come out so hard, but it did. "I'll take care of him, ma'am."

Tsuru was quiet. After a long moment, she asked, in a strange gentle tone, "Why did you leave?"

He lowered his head. Just on the other side of the door, Baby and Buffalo were engaged in another game of riddles. ("They try to beat me. They try in vain...and when I win, I end the pain.") Law was probably sitting on the ground nearby, leaned against the foot of the abandoned couch, reading whatever newspapers Rosinante had discarded.

"What was left there?" he whispered, "I went back for my brother. My brother's long gone. He died eighteen years ago on that island all alone."

 _In fire._

 _In Father's blood._

"What are you saying, boy?" the snail's eyes peered at him carefully, "He's not gone."

Rosinante shook his head. He wanted to end the call now, before his throat tightened up, before Tsuru could hear his voice choke. He failed. _"Yes, he is."_

"Rosinante." There was a sound, like Tsuru shifting forward in her seat. "Take a breath. It's alright. Tell me what happened."

But she was perfectly aware of what happened. The island's burning had been in the papers for almost two months. It was being considered one of the worst genocides in the history of the North Blue. Secretly, Rosinante knew that if not for Jora, the body count would've rivaled even Flevance's. But the White City didn't exist to the media anymore, over-watched by the vast eye of the Government. Instead, the articles focused on Doffy with rabid interest, trying to dissect his brain, puzzle out the why with pop psychiatry columns and celebrity therapists. They wasted their time. Whatever they were trying to study wasn't there.

Maybe it'd never truly been there to begin with.

Maybe even what Rosinante had loved so desperately had only been a shadow, an illusion conjured out of his own aching wishes. What had Sengoku said? _I know you want to think there was a reason...that something broke him apart inside. But nothing could have, Rosinante. Nothing did, because he was already-_

"Broken."

The Den Den Mushi blinked again. "...broken?"

"That's what he is. All this time. Since the beginning. He's never been able to feel. Never been able to love. Not these kids, not the crew. Not our parents and not..." Rosinante closed his heating eyes, re-opened them. "He has no heart, Tsuru-san, and he was born _wrong._ "

He tried to hang up after that, unable to bear the silence to follow or what his own conscience had in store. How can you say that, it was already whispering, that's your brother. All you ever had. That's your world.

Tsuru spoke quickly, as if anticipating his move.

"Rosinante, you gave up your entire life to return for your brother. A career, friends, love. You were doing research for months on end, interviewing therapists and studying medications. You wanted him to live with you, once he'd done his time. Even went off plan and gave him your voice. Took risks you didn't have to. You were determined to save him, don't you remember?"

Of course he did. They were suppose to be together.

"You can't save what's gone."

The snail's gaze was full of pity and Rosinante was truly getting sick of the sight. Pity didn't fix anything. Didn't accomplish _anything_ except arrive too little and too late.

"You already know my thoughts on Doflamingo," Tsuru said after a moment, "The boy is missing something, I can't argue. But you are _wrong,_ Rosinante, if you believe he does not care for you."

Rosinante brought the speaker down.

"I'll leave them where we agreed, Tsuru-san."

"I know it must hurt, child, but you have to think carefully."

"They're just kids. They'll be afraid."

"You may very well be-"

"Please don't make them wait."

"-the only thing in this world-"

"Goodbye, Tsuru-san."

"-that he loves."

Rosinante hung up.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _He remained awake for hours afterwards, long, long past when their mother would have required them asleep, staring at the decaying rafters with his heartbeat in his throat. All his tears had dried, trails of salt crusted onto his cheeks. He was not angry anymore. Didn't want the moon or the stars, or even that sliver of light. He wanted his brother and that was all._

 _What would he even do, if Doffy had been caught by the mob? If he really had been traded away?_

 _Rosinante thought about this quite numbly. He concluded in the end that he'd probably just die. That if his brother never came back, if something had happened to him, he'd just lay here and give up and wait to expire. It was one of the last thoughts he had too, before drifting off into a doze._

 _He startled awake again unknown hours later, as the door opened and shut. Rosinante's eyes snapped wide. "Doffy?" No response. A shape moved through the room quietly. Rosinante paled. It did not sound like an animal._

 _He tried again. "Brother?" A note of fear slipped by. "Is that you?"_

 _There was a shifting in the shadows. A glint of black frames. Then Doflamingo's voice drifted through the dark. "Go back to sleep."_

 _Rosinante lifted himself onto his elbows instantly, squinting, trying to make out the outline of his brother. "You come too."_

 _Silence._

 _"Please?"_

 _He waited for several beats in the stillness. Almost began wondering if he should just move to his brother instead when Doflamingo materialized before him, shuffling to their stained little pallet and laying down. He was cold as ice from being outside. Rosinante didn't care, tossing the blanket over him and dragging him close._

 _"I didn't mean it," he whispered, against his brother's chest, "Doffy, I'm sorry."_

 _Doflamingo grunted. "I know, it's okay."_

 _Rosinante was not reassured. He lifted his head, peeking up at his brother beneath their ratty, threadbare coverlet. "I don't want anyone else," he said, "I would never ever trade you. I'm happy you're here."_

 _Doflamingo's gaze flickered down._

 _"Yeah?" he said, "You're happy?"_

 _Rosinante nodded, his wavy blond locks bouncing. His eyes gleamed with worry, feared Doflamingo would not believe him. But his brother almost smiled. He ran a hand through Rosinante's hair, mussing it up slightly._

 _"Okay, Rosi. Go to sleep now."_

 _Rosinante lay his head back down. A knob of anxiety was still there, eating at him. His own previous words rang like endless bells in his head and he couldn't believe what he had said, regretted it so._

 _"I love you," he whispered in that small, filthy room, gripping his brother's shirt, "I always will. You know that right?"_

 _A sigh. "I know. Stop talking already."_

 _Rosinante bit his lip. He went quiet for a long beat, and then, "Doffy...do you love me too?"_

 _Doflamingo blinked, awake again as he tried to peer down at his brother, who had burrowed down into the sheet and refused to raise his head. He eventually relented with a raised brow, better adjusting his arm so it wouldn't go numb. His brother had never asked him such a question before and for a moment, he wondered if he was understanding it correctly._

 _But he gave the answer he had. That was how things were when it came to Rosi and would always be-he gave what he had. Whatever it may be and whether or not it was enough._

 _"You're family," he said, "And you're mine."_

 _Rosinante smiled, heart filled. He hugged Doflamingo as close as he could and they slept._


	19. caelum et mare

A/n: Happy holidays everyone! Probably a bit of a damper on the joyous mood, but here's my gift to all of you! Finish line's almost in sight actually. The current estimate is five chapters left, but this might change later. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **caelum et mare - "the sky and the sea"**

* * *

" _Consider the sky and the sea," Senor Pink had said, two and a half years ago, reclined on the quarterdeck of a clear spring day. The gulls glided with the currents and water sliced beneath the stern. Baby, Buffalo and Law sat around him, feet dangling through the balustrade._

" _Both huge and deep," he said, as they watched the figure below further out at the railing. Rosinante sat on the bench, leaning towards the spray. He was smoking, something of anger and hurt in his eyes._

" _Sad as hell," Senor Pink said, "twice as strange…"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Cora-san made them rice balls that night. Fifteen pounds of grain and cod roe and umeboshi. Sesame oil and chili paste. Red bean for a sweeter variety. They were huge and puffy white like snowballs. Baby ate so many she thought she might burst. Buffalo had three in his mouth at a time. Even Law, who never felt like eating anything, put away several in the end.

Cora-san sat before the fire pit with a cigarette between his teeth. He stirred the embers, closing the lid of the small iron pot and didn't take any for himself. Baby's face fell slightly. Now that she thought about it, Cora-san hadn't been eating much recently in general. His profile seemed a bit leaner than before.

Maybe Law was thinking the same, since he reached out to smack Buffalo's hands away from the last handful of rice balls.

"Ow!" Buffalo yelped, glowering at him, "What was that for?"

"You're full," Law replied coldly.

Baby nudged Buffalo's arm before he could start to steam. "He's right, Buffalo. You gotta stop. We have to save some for Cora-san."

Buffalo blinked at her, surprised, like the thought had sailed over his head. But soon it passed and then he looked sorry. He was giving a downtrodden nod, when a voice floated from across the room.

"It's fine, kids, you can have them."

Cora-san had turned in his chair, elbow on the chair's arm rest, temple propped with a hand. His hair was like spun gold against his knuckles. He looked faintly bemused.

"But Cora-san..." she started, and he waved his hand.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, right," Law said, crossing his arms, "You haven't been doing anything but smoking and reading papers for weeks."

"I'm not actually hungry anymore," Buffalo added, sounding very guilty now. But Cora-san still looked reluctant. He made no move to rise and so Baby picked up the remaining tray of rice balls with a determined look and trotted over to him.

"You're gonna get sick," she chided, lifting the tray towards him as high as she could reach, "Please eat something, Cora-san. You should take care of yourself." She thought a moment, searching for some further reason to convince him and added, "The Young Master would be worried."

Cora-san froze. He looked at her and then the rice balls. There was something in his eyes she could not understand. For a second, Baby almost wondered if he believed her.

But why wouldn't he? It was the truth. Baby Five remembered after all, back when they first arrived at Spider Miles for Senor Pink, when the Young Master kept asking her to check for him. How much more relaxed he'd been when Law simply started making those daily reports.

To this day, she wasn't sure what had started that weird, horrible fight between them. She'd never seen the Young Master drink so much in her life and it made Baby's heart ache to remember.

Gladius and Lao G had grumbled that Cora-san must've been doing it out of spite, that he'd been trying to hurt the Young Master for whatever reason. Baby Five didn't believe them. Cora-san would've never tried to hurt the Young Master. Not then. Not now. Not in a thousand and one years.

How could they even think such a thing?

Cora-san let out a small breath. "Alright," he said at last and took the tray from her, just in time as her arms had begun to tire.

"And you gotta eat all of them," Law said, chin jutted, shooting a glare at Buffalo when he murmured he'd be fine taking whatever leftovers Cora-san couldn't finish.

Baby Five's heart swelled. She hopped onto the chair's armrest and beamed at Cora-san, who tried to smile a little back. He'd since washed off the cake of paint over his face and was more handsome now than ever. Beautiful honestly. Like the waves.

Like Young Master, when he'd taught her the shifting of the winds, up high on the crow's nest against the clouds. Just like him. It was amazing.

Baby wondered if even mirrors could've gotten them confused then. It was so very odd to her sometimes, how different they could be.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

He let them sleep in the next morning. He shouldn't have, time was of the essence, but he did.

Rosinante watched the sunrise and gleaming soft light soak into the roots of the earth. Birds trilled in the copses and there was an even vaster stream of human babel rising like a tide from the kingdom that rested in the valley.

At this hour, he knew Gladius would have already dragged the kids out of their bunks, putting them to work with their chores, combating their whines with the mere fact that the sooner they finished, the more free time there'd be. They had loved watching Machvise and Lao G spar at Spider Miles, and helping Jora paint the ship's banisters every month, because she'd let them choose a new color each time.

Rosinante ran a hand through his hair. He was sure Baby and Buffalo would miss the Family. The blood and carnage of it hadn't phased them, didn't matter in their eyes. There were only certain things in the end after all which mattered to children. And maybe the Family had provided a bit of that, in whatever malformed shell it'd been in. Maybe Rosinante realized this too.

But the fact was plain: it shouldn't be all they'd ever get and it wasn't what they deserved.

Doffy just couldn't give them what they craved. Not ever. Couldn't bring himself to, couldn't understand how, whatever the reason. They were weapons being honed, as his brother had said all that time ago. Rosinante did not doubt that even their small, simple needs were an impossible request for the world to Doffy.

It was just the person he was. Born wrong. Rosinante recognized this now.

Tendrils of smoke escaped his lips as he sighed, spreading and vanishing into the valley. Rosinante ground out the stub of a cigarette on the peeling sill. He hadn't the desire to think about his brother. So tired of him occupying his thoughts day in and out. What had fixating over him achieved in the end? Fucking nothing.

He'd lost Doffy probably a thousand years ago, if he'd ever had him at all. It was over. He'd failed.

And this wasn't about them anymore.

Rosinante stood.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Cora-san took them into town. Said he was sorry for having spent so much time shut off and wanted to make it up to them. Baby squealed with delight, latching onto his leg, as Buffalo pumped his fists in the air and cheered.

"We might be a while," Cora-san said to Law, who wasn't feeling too good again, but had still demanded they go without him. Baby was a little disappointed, even moreso confused when Cora-san agreed so easily. Excitement kept her from paying any complete mind though. She supposed they'd just have to bring something cool back for Law instead. Buffalo looked like he would've thrown a fit if they'd cancelled the plans anyway.

"Can we go see the square?" she asked, skipping beside Cora-san on the mountain trail down into Vale. Buffalo had run ahead, crowing back at them about the pie shops and cafes he swore he could already smell.

"Sure, kid," Cora-san said softly, hands in his pockets. "Whatever you'd like."

Baby grinned, fingers reaching out to curl around the edge of Cora-san's pant leg, bunching the fabric in her hand. He was really the best. So kind and nice. Not like Trebol-san, Diamante-san or Pica-san at all, and Baby Five could see very clearly then, even more clearly than before, why the Young Master loved him so much.

"Let's play a game, Cora-san."

His eyes flicked down towards her. "What kind of game?"

"Riddle me this."

He made a gentle, slightly amused noise. "You guys really enjoy that one, don't you?"

"It's fun! At least if you don't play with Senor. His are too hard and he never tells us the answers if we don't get it right," she pouted a bit at the memory, before giving him a solemn look, "But I'd never do that to you, Cora-san."

He laughed this time. It was a wonderful sound. Baby did wish he laughed more often.

"Alright," he said, teeth flashing, "Go ahead and try me, kid. I'm no slouch."

And he really wasn't. Baby had to admit that halfway through she'd broken her promise not to give him super hard riddles and started thinking up the most creative ones possible. And when Cora-san guessed all those correct too, she might've completely cheated and borrowed one from Senor as well. The first one that came to mind.

"What's between," she said, "the sky and the sea?"

He tilted his head, pondering for a moment. "The horizon?"

"Nope!" Baby giggled at his surprised look, hiding her mouth behind her hands.

"Really? What then?"

She grinned, mouth opening, before stopping suddenly and realizing she didn't know. It was Senor's favorite riddle and he'd given her the answer a long time ago, though all she could draw now was a blank.

"Uh, I'm not sure," Baby said, tapping her chin. Cora-san chuckled. "Guess you'll have to leave me in suspense."

"Oh, I'll think of it," she reassured hurriedly, "Maybe it was—"

"BABY! CORA-SAN! LOOK, LOOK!" Buffalo had made it to the crest of the hill and was stabbing a finger at the kingdom below. "I think the fair's in town!"

Baby's eyes popped. Within an instant, she had released Cora-san to go tearing down the path towards Buffalo and skidding to a halt beside him. From up high, Vale was a patchwork of colors and Baby Five gaped at the tiny clumps of people she could just make out, the tents, something like music.

Buffalo was already scrambling down the bumpier terrain winding into the valley. Baby Five dogged at his heels.

"Hurry, Cora-san!" she called over her shoulder and Senor Pink's riddle was shoved back then, left and forgotten somewhere in the drawers of her mind.

That was where it would stay too, until the years had gone by and by. Until it was later, in every sense of the term, and the answer no longer meant a thing.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Did you find any?" Gladius muttered, hurrying into the lounge. He'd been shoveling through crate after crate of tributes in the vault, and mint gold tumbled from his hair like fallen leaves. Jora and Lao G were already there, similarly out of breath and reeking of damp wood and mildew from the separate cargo hold.

"No, the casket he has now really must be the last of it."

"Are you certain? Did you check everywhere?"

"Hmph, of course we did, rude boy. Watch your tone around your elders."

Machvise stood next to Doflamingo's empty chair, giving it occasional glances and rocking from foot to foot, tail thumping nervously against the floor. "Do you think little Law dumped it all overboard in the end? Like he kept saying he would?"

They paused, wincing in unison at the thought. "You gave him ideas again, woman," Lao G muttered at Jora, who threw up her hands.

"It was just a passing thought! How was I to know the child would take it to heart?" Then in a lowered voice, she added, "Better for it though, right? He'd tear through his stomach lining at the rate he's downing those concoctions."

 _Not to mention the smell._ None of them said it, but it wasn't an unpopular opinion. They couldn't really describe the overpowering stench of the wine that had since begun permeating again from the captain's quarters. Caustic and chemical, bearing vague resemblance to ethanol despite its bright pink hue. It was seeping through the wood grains and draining out into the corridors.

The men swore it was detectable even in the bunkrooms, even on deck where the winds failed to sweep it away. And it was apparent too, the Young Master loathed the taste. His real penchant was for the vintage brands, they were all aware. Why he binged by the liters that strange, unpleasant brew was beyond them.

"Maybe it _is_ better for it," Gladius said, crossing his arms, "He eased up by himself before, right? Four years ago."

"No," Machvise mumbled, "It wasn't by himself then. It was Corazón."

The name felt taboo somehow, spoken aloud, eliciting a bout of stiff silence.

Corazón.

"Well," Lao G said at last, splitting into the tension, "Who ought to go tell him?"

They exchanged glances. Expectant ones. Nobody spoke, until another voice was heard from the entrance.

"I'll go."

Senor Pink strolled in, hands in his pockets, binky dangling on a string around his neck. He smelled almost permanently of beer and chicken these days, and his flesh was gaining the faintest of folds. He was dissolving, a spirit beyond the brink of collapse, and they pitied him in their own half-mad ways.

"Not looking to die, are you, Pink?" Lao G asked after a moment.

"Because we don't need you riling the Young Master further," Gladius added.

"And there are far less painful ways," Jora said, "to die."

Senor Pink scoffed. He reached for the pacifier, wedging it at the corner of his mouth. "That's not my speed," he said shortly. "Never right anyway, to kick a man when he's down."

They blinked.

"Why do _you_ think he did it, Pink?" Machvise said into the bemused pause, "Just feels like this all came out of nowhere. I'm not even sure why they were fighting at the start."

Senor Pink's grunt was noncommittal. "Can't ask the sky to try and meet the sea."

"What?"

There was no explanation. Senor Pink's hands slipped into his pockets.

"Doesn't really matter in the end, does it? What we think. Pin's been pulled. He ran. Leave it to the captain to decide what's next."

"What do you mean decide?" Gladius said, "He broke the one rule. Nothing left to decide as far as I can see."

Pink shrugged.

"Then you," he said, "haven't really been looking.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

Back in his cabin, Doflamingo flexed his fingers, white glinting thread slipping from the seams of his palm. They crossed over each other in a messy lattice. He relaxed his hand and the threads broke free and rose, lifting in the enclosed space like tendrils. They spread out into arches overhead. Doflamingo watched them rotate above him, spinning like the languid blades of a fan. Their shadows danced across his face.

Then gingerly, he turned his wrist. The threads ceased moving, poised, hanging still in the air like debris in dead space. In the next instant, they speared downwards and there was a loud 'crack' and 'crunch' as the strings knifed into the floor and hooked tight. They thickened in breadth, donning the metallic sheen of bars.

Doflamingo drew his legs up from where they were stretched on the bed, crossing them as his gaze shifted to the porthole. Tsuru's ship still sat in the distance. It had advanced out of the fog with due promptness, inserting itself between them and Vale and had yet to move since. No attacks. No first moves. A warning shot from the long nines when they tried to go past, but that was all.

She didn't call again, whether for fresh threats or another deal. She left him alone.

And Doflamingo could not figure out for the life of him what she was aiming at. Had given up trying halfway through. Tsuru was an enigma to him. Always had been. Supremely annoying or otherwise.

So fine. Joke was on her. He didn't need to get any closer to Vale than this. By now, Vergo had likely made landfall. If Rosi was on that island, then Vergo would find him. The kids as well.

And then he'd get his explanation.

That was what Doflamingo had decided. There was…an explanation. A reason. A mistake. Two of the three. One. All of the above combined, it didn't matter.

Rosi wouldn't do this to him. They were brothers. The only blood left of each other. He wouldn't…wouldn't hurt him like this.

 _Wouldn't I?_

Doflamingo blinked slowly, going very still as the shade drifted out from its corner.

 _You didn't know me then, Doffy._ It said, rocking on its heels. _And you still don't know me now._

He snatched the last wine bottle from where it rolled on the floor. Drained it drier than bone.

Then he watched Rosi fizzle and vanish. Dissolving, as if he never were.

* * *

xxx

* * *

It was not so much a fair, as they found out, but a market day. Rosinante supposed it was a matter of semantics with the number of people milling about. A band had set up near the entrance and the roads filled with the strum of fiddles, the smooth glissando of piano keys. Occasional winds lifted over the crowds, brought with it the earthen sweetness of the mountain.

Buffalo had eyes immediately for the food carts, while Baby marveled at a group of dancers in the square. Rosinante gave them each a handful in weight of beris and let them wander as they pleased. He wanted a cigarette again, but it didn't seem particularly wise with all the families around.

To drive out the urge, he strolled through the market, glancing at the wares on occasion. There were tapestries that smelled of a millennium and antiques older than dust. Soft-fleshed fruit and balm leaves from Baterilla. A caged paradise bird like the ones they'd seen on the New World sea. Its head cocked as he passed. Silent.

 _You and me, right, little brother?_ an old, dead voice whispered, _You and me._

He kept walking.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _It was twenty minutes later when Doflamingo wandered out. They watched him stop behind Rosinante, stand affixed for an entire minute a good distance from his brother, staring at the back of his head._

 _And then some unknown force seemed to spur him forward, made him settle against the railing, a few steps apart._

 _Rosinante didn't acknowledge him. He didn't move away either._

 _And after a while, Doflamingo spoke softly, said something that made Rosinante pause and glance over at last._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Several hours passed, before he came across the final stall. Oil paintings hung on its posts, breath-taking landscapes of Elbaf and Amazon Lily, of Raftel waiting somewhere still in the unchartered sea.

Rosinante's body stopped on its own.

He couldn't stem the past then—those stories told in the dark, whispers between chattered teeth trying to distract him from the cold.

 _Imagine a warmer place. Imagine…flying off into the sky somewhere far. Somewhere near the sun. See? It's not so bad. You're alright. Stop crying, Rosi._

 _We're gonna get out of here._

 _Rosi, we're gonna be free._

 _I'll think of something, don't you worry._

Rosinante's eyes narrowed at the ground. He ushered the memory quietly back through its small, weathered gate.

"Anything catch your eye, young master?" The merchant leaned over the stall, pinning a waggish grin on him when Rosinante looked up in surprise. He gestured at his other bins, random baubles, odds and ends. Three giant bundles of white roses wrapped in damp parcels of newspaper.

"Imported straight from Dressrosa," he said, "Best of the breed. Cut you a deal and make 'em forty beris-worth. What do you say? Strapping lad like yourself, quite a lady's killer I'll bet."

Rosinante blinked at them. And then flashed again to something shriveled and dead in the moonlight, clutched in a cruel fist. He dipped his head. "Another day maybe."

"How's about thirty beris then?" the merchant called after he turned, "Or I've got loads of other products too. You oughta take a look, young master. Something here you'll want, I bet. Even need."

Rosinante nearly burst out laughing. The pieces of his chest shifted, dragging down his soul, spilling all over his heart. He glanced back.

"You," he rasped, "don't have what I want. You don't have what I need."

 _It's already gone._

 _I left it behind. I ran away._

 _I let it die in the dark, it's because of me…_

Rosinante walked from the stall without waiting for any response. He passed through the market place entirely, back to the square where he could see Baby Five and Buffalo sitting against the wishing fountain. The sun had slipped past noon.

And it was almost time.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Cora-san!" Baby Five waved when she saw him walk up, jumping to her feet to hug his leg. He ruffled her hair, arching a brow at the litter of pie tins and pizza boxes around Buffalo.

"Had fun?" he said. Buffalo patted his round belly drowsily while Baby nodded with a huge smile. She really did feel bad that Law hadn't been able to come now. There were so many amazing things to see and do in a real kingdom, and she doubted they'd be able to visit this easily again once they returned. The Young Master was wanted throughout the Grand Line and in all four seas. It would probably be impossible.

But Baby didn't want to think about that yet, of how much she'd miss this when it was over. "Did you see the dancers, Cora-san?" she asked instead, pointing to the open plaza, where she'd watched them spin and twirl and clap. The women in their bright plumes of ruffling colors and the men in suits of dapper gray or black. Some of them were still there, swaying against each other, even though the ballads had long died away.

"It was a wedding," she added, when she saw the bride and groom among them. The breeze was lifting her veil, almost gave it a mind of its own as it flurried around the pair like a white-winged bird.

Baby Five sighed in awe. "Do you think I'll get married someday too, Cora-san?"

He sat down on the lip of the fountain beside her, glanced at the sun a moment before regarding the couple with his glittering eyes

"Of course, kid. If that's what you wanted."

She smiled, kicking her legs. In truth though, deep down, she was not sure how to want something in that way—softly and from the heart. The Young Master had never taught her. Not truly. A tiny part of her wondered sometimes if it was because he didn't know how himself.

But that couldn't be. Her Young Master knew everything, everything. He was bigger than the sky, warmer than any sun or flame. She was his.

And she realized also, in the moment of that thought, that she missed him. The Family and the ship too. They were what she knew and the only home she could remember. The only one that had wanted her, or kept her, or believed her necessary. She missed them. Bit by bit. A little more each day. This wasn't where she belonged.

So it was with fiddling hands and a chewed lip, at the rim of that fountain, that Baby turned to Cora-san and asked, "When are we going home?"

He did not reply.

The shadows of his bangs curtained his eyes when she peered up.

"We've been gone for a month now, Cora-san. The Young Master's gonna get worried, right? Or grumpy. Shouldn't we go back soon? Shouldn't we—"

She cut herself off mid-word, when Cora-san abruptly turned to her. His large hands enveloped her shoulders, held her still and she blinked owlishly up and up into his eyes.

"Baby," he said, apropos to nothing, "You know it's okay to just live for yourself. Find your own way. To want more than you're given."

"Huh? Wha—"

He squeezed and Baby Five froze. It hurt just a tad, but she didn't really feel it. Cora-san's eyes were sad. So very sad, god, she'd never forget the way they looked then.

"Learn to be happy," he said, "Know how to say goodbye. Now, while you still can and just…please remember that, okay? Just that, if nothing else. Please?"

Baby nodded quickly, startled, almost frightened. She wasn't sure why, but her chest had begun to ache and she reached for his hands, not able to bear those eyes. "I'll remember, Cora-san. I'll remember, I promise. What's wrong?"

But he released her then and stood. Suddenly enough that Buffalo was surprised out of his half-doze, metal tins clattering against the stones.

"Cora-san?"

"Good," he said, "That's good. I'm sorry, kid, for scaring you. And putting you both through all of this." He smiled, but it was literally the fakest thing Baby had ever seen. Hollower even than the Young Master's could be. Buffalo stood too, repeating Baby's own question, asking what was going on with quizzical eyes.

Cora-san only looked at the sun again.

"It's alright," he whispered, "Come with me.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

(This was how it happened.

They followed him down to the empty beach-side, far away from the kingdom's bustle.

"Cora-san?" Baby Five said again, the air so still she could only speak in a hush. He didn't answer. A trace of unease wavered across her face. The waves were loud and dark, a hard crimson in the setting sun. Buffalo pressed closer to her and she could feel his discomfort as well.

"What are we doing here?"

But Cora-san would not answer. He kept walking, feathers and gold and giant footprints in the sand. Where was he going? She bit her lip and stopped in her tracks, Buffalo almost bumping into her back.

"Cora-san, tell us where we're going." She tried to sound firm. It came out afraid.

But he stopped. Stood there for a long moment actually, before turning around. Shadows cloaked his eyes.

"It's alright, Baby," he said again, softly.

And then

behind him came

the Marines.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(They screamed and fought. Buffalo tried to punch several of the Marines that came near them, clipped a few good before the sea stone chains emerged and wrapped around them thrice.

Then Baby started to cry, barely able to form words, her sobbing breaths catching short and unproductive in her chest. She begged for his brother, his title a stuttering shriek upon her lips, sent again and again into unobliging stars.

"Cora-san," she gasped, hysterical tears spilling down her chin, "C-Cora-san, I-I wanna go home. I just wanna go h-home. I wanna see the Y-Young Master. Please, Cora-san, we won't tell, please, please, please…"

"That wasn't your home," Rosinante heard himself say at a distance, "And he isn't your master. You can't be with him anymore."

Baby's pupils shrank. She shook her head again and again and again. "No, no, no…"

The ensign in charge, a man of late-thirties with graying hair, shook his head in pity and horror. He was here in lieu of Tsuru, who was out in the open waters beyond Vale. Caught in a deadlock, the ensign had explained in a whisper, and keeping monsters at bay.

"The Donquixotes. Made their way here. Must've come looking for their moppets. Christ, right?"

Rosinante's heart near smashed through his ribs.

Doffy had found him. He was here.

Shit, he was _here._

He needed to get back to Law.

"We'll see them to the vice admiral, sir," the ensign promised, before holding up a clipboard, "Ah, before you're off though, you mind filling out a status report? Standard protocol at Vale. Just a brief phrase and your code is fine."

Rosinante would've normally argued. He didn't think the man properly grasped the meaning of complete confidentiality. But he was paling and turning to ice and his brother was here and _fuck not yet, he had one more, just one more, not yet…_

"Fine," he said and grabbed the clipboard, scribbling quickly. When he looked up again, he made the mistake of meeting the children's eyes.

"Traitor," Buffalo spat, glare sizzling with hatred, "Young Master's gonna find you. And then you're gonna be _dead._ "

Baby Five's wide, tear-streaked gaze bore into him, black and lightless as coal. As if he were something repulsive and perplexing that she suddenly couldn't recognize.

"I hate you," she hissed, "I _hate_ you. I hope the Young Master _kills_ you."

Rosinante said nothing. He handed the clipboard back to the ensign, who took it with a sympathetic look.

"They're only kids now," the man tried to reassure, "But someday, they'll understand why."

Rosinante didn't need them to understand. Didn't even need them to forgive him.

Perhaps they'd never forgive him actually. Perhaps this was all they'd remember him as—the man who'd torn them from their home and taken away the only family they knew.

He would find a way to live with it. If they managed to grow up free and never follow his brother into the dark, then Rosinante didn't mind. They could hate him forever. He would not be sorry.

"Please get them out of here," he whispered, and disappeared off the beach.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo closed his fist. The bars dragged against the floor, splintering through wooden slats. They drew towards the bed, slicing any fallen paper into ribbons.

He opened his fist just before the desk was reached and halted their advance. A serrated edge still managed to nick off a corner.

The entire thing glowed in the night-engulfed room. Doflamingo stared through the cage, the bars reflecting in his blood-red lens. There was a mere scrap of the sky outside, a handful of stars blinking awake.

No moon tonight.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Law was asleep when he'd reached the old house again. Just the last rays of the dying sun remained.

For a moment, Rosinante could only stand there, staring at him. Then he managed to shake himself out of his daze and approached the couch, scooping up the small, boneless form.

Law stirred. Sleep-disheveled eyes opened and peered up at Rosinante. "…wha…Cora-sa—?"

"Shh," he said, tucking the boy against one arm, slipping off the couch's afghan with his free hand. He bundled Law hurriedly, and as securely as he could. The cold would be murder tonight on the mist-filled ocean. He'd likely need to hold the child himself, without the other kids around to share body heat. "We have to go, Law."

The boy blinked. His bleary amber gaze slid to the left, around Rosinante's arm and towards the empty doorway.

"…where's Baby and Buffalo?"

In near exhaustion, Rosinante groped for an excuse. He couldn't think of anything. His mind was buzzing. His brother was here.

"They're safe," he ended up saying, "Just you and me now, okay?"

Law looked at him. Something seemed to turn in his young face.

But then he pressed his cheek against Rosinante's chest. A tiny white-spotted hand clutched his shirt, right over the rapid thrum of his heart.

"Okay," Law slurred and went back to sleep.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _A yellowed photo slipped from Doflamingo's sleeve. A couple with blonde hair and gentle eyes. It'd been ripped in half with violence, before being carefully taped back together. Doflamingo offered it to his brother, something like hope flickering in his expression. Rosinante stared a moment at him, at the photo._

 _And then they saw his face soften. Then they saw him sigh. Rosinante took the photo._

 _Doflamingo grinned a thousand watts. He reached over without pause to mess up his brother's hair. Rosinante jabbed him with an elbow for his trouble, mouth a half-scowl of annoyance._

 _But he made room on the bench._

 _And he smiled back perhaps, just slightly._

 _Baby Five giggled, while Buffalo cocked his head. Law watched in a thoughtful silence. And Senor Pink blew a smoke ring, letting it dissolve in the lazy mid-day._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo stood at the prow. The loose threads of his strings dangled like snakes from his coat and the coarse tips of his fingers.

He could just make out Vale in the fog, all festivity and lights and making merry. Like Dressrosa.

What sweet, secure dreams it must dream. How lovely.

He'd fucking burn it _all._ Tear it open, crack it wide, _give me back my brother…_

"I don't believe you," he said, when the ghost reappeared, cross-legged on that bench. "You're not Rosi. You're not mine. He had a reason. And he's going to explain."

Mere silence responded.

And it seemed to say everything anyway.

The wind carded through his hair. Doflamingo felt nothing.

"I don't believe you," he said again, face cold and white.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _You know what's between," Senor had asked, "the sky and the sea?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

The wind seemed to drag on them. It had taken several tries for Rosinante to catch a gust, pulling the boat out of Vale's quay and making distance into the open waters. Now it was lagging again and Rosinante cursed under his breath.

He cradled Law close while battling the ocean for control of the boat, trying to shield him from the splash. The boy's head was tilted against his shoulder limply, small breaths even and dead to the world.

Rosinante clenched his teeth and grabbed the steering wheel. An old photo fell from his coat then—a smiling couple with gentle eyes, taped together with precision and delicacy. It fluttered overboard and was swallowed by the waves.

He didn't notice, steering as if possessed into the fog.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _All the damn stars…"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

And that was how they passed each other. One looking forward. One looking back.

Fifty meters apart in the New World sea.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"… _and a world too many."_


	20. vergo: obscuro

_**vergo: obscuro - "shadowy" or "blind"**_

* * *

" _What are you still doing here?"_

 _Rosinante scrunched tighter against the shack doorway, wiping at his tear-streaked face with grubby hands. "I'm waiting for my brother," he whispered._

" _Oh yeah?" Vergo stopped in front of him. His shadow swathed over the pale young face. "Even after all of that?"_

 _Silence._

" _You're pathetic."_

 _A tiny flinch. Vergo folded his arms. "You're so damn afraid, I can hear you quake. And yet you keep sitting here, pretending to yourself that you want your brother to come back—"_

" _I'm not leaving." Rosinante's brows furrowed, his eyes garnering a flint of heat. "I can't leave him. He's my brother. I can't leave."_

 _Vergo stared. A sharp twitch ran through his cheek._

" _Think you're family just because of some shared blood in between? You and him are nothing."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

He did not manage to make it to the base until nightfall. Triaged by some thrice-damned request to help stand guard during a particularly busy day. Standard protocol in Vale, they had said, for all visiting officers to contribute to watch duty if necessary. Vergo, already reputed as one of the more accommodating officers, had chosen to accept without fuss. Doffy had wanted subtlety after all.

It'd been a most unfortunate mistake.

"Vice Admiral?"

He turned, loosening his hands from the Haki-infused fists they had formed. Faint splits lined the knuckles of his black leather gloves. The ensign was staring at them.

Vergo smiled.

"Ah, apologies, got lost in my head a moment."

The man looked concerned. "Your sister, sir? She doing better?"

"Much better actually, thank you." He folded his hands behind his back. "I do hope to return to her soon however, if you could..."

"Yes, of course," the ensign laughed, scratching his head, "We appreciate you helpin' out with the guard watch. It's not usually so chaotic, but market day got overlapped with a wedding and we were short on hands. Hope it didn't take too much of your time."

Vergo continued smiling. On the contrary, it had taken all his time. Nearly the entire day. He couldn't even be sure Rosinante was still in the kingdom at this rate.

A violent spike of frustration pulsed through him. "It's a bit curious," Vergo said, as they walked through the base's sparkling clean hallway, "I was under the impression Vale has been funneled more resources since Roger's demise."

The man paused, hesitating. Vergo's glasses flashed.

"We have, but…"

A group of petty officers passed by before he could finish, each looking more bedraggled than the next. Band-aids were taped all over their faces and Vergo noticed gauze wrapped over some of their fingers when they saluted breathlessly.

"The boats have been sent off, sir. Both of 'em were biting so the clinic might be a bit full now, but—"

"Thank you, lads," the ensign said, a note of sternness in his tone that quieted them. Their eyes darted to Vergo, who smiled very thinly at them, before they nodded, saluted again and trudged off.

"Something happened?" Vergo asked, before they were even out of sight. The ensign released a tired breath. "It's a bit complicated."

"Oh? How so? Perhaps I can assist."

The man shook his head, carding a hand through his graying hair. "Reckon the only thing that'll help those tykes now would be a shrink or thre—"

He broke off, gaze flying to the gloved hand which had grabbed his shoulder.

"What?" asked Vergo.

The man sucked in a yelp when the hand clamped down, hard enough to reach bone. Only the fraction of a second however, before the pressure vanished. Vergo folded his hands behind his back again. The ensign clutched his arm, staring at Vergo with startled eyes.

"…Sir?"

Vergo resumed walking. His pace was brisk.

"Seems your day was far more eventful than mine, lieutenant," he said, "Do me the favor of telling that story."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Marines began circling the island a week following Doffy's return. Coming ashore. Searching for something. They packed up at dusk, slipping through shadows to the beach-side. Vergo was glad. He hated this place._

 _Doffy though, hesitated on the shore._

" _My brother," he said, seawater soaking his tattered shoes, "He could come back. He'll be looking for me. I can't just leave. What about my brother?"_

 _Trebol had plied him with lies, saying that they'd already searched the entire island through, that Rosinante couldn't possibly be here anymore and we'll search again at the next island, Doffy, of course, of course, whatever it is you wish._

" _You entertain him," Trebol had stressed once Doffy was out of earshot, "and keep his mind from wandering back to places it shouldn't."_

 _Vergo gave a blank nod. They watched Pica pull Doffy into the boat, Diamante hoist him onto the top of their motley heap of supplies and food and machetes. "Why is he talking about him again? You said he was finished with his brother. You were wrong."_

 _The end of Trebol's cane impaled into the sand. The man grinned, yellowed mouth on display._

" _Is that how you speak to your boss?"_

" _You're not my boss anymore."_

" _Behe, true, true." Air whistled through the holes in Trebol's teeth. "Fine, maybe I was wrong. Just a little. Either way, it's your turn now."_

 _Vergo watched the cane rise, gesturing with a sharp arc towards the boat. Towards Doffy, who sat hugging his legs, not paying attention at all to whatever jest Diamante was cracking._

" _Look carefully," Trebol said, "because that creature right there will be our sole purpose in life. Your lord-to-be. Your king. Oh, the things he's meant to do, can't you see it, boy?"_

 _Vergo looked. And he could._

 _They'd all witnessed Doffy that day after all, under those dusty warehouse rafters—the stained rags of his clothes, the old blood beneath his nails. That laugh—he'd never heard the other boy laugh at all until then. Its echo had been more thunder than thunder, like the scorched-up trail of something plunging out of the sky. A promise in the dark._

 _Doffy was here to destroy the world._

 _All that mattered was his will._

" _Just one pebble on the road," Trebol spat, "One snag in our way. Only one."_

 _Loathing bubbled in his voice._

" _Something soft and something weak."_

 _Vergo turned to the boat. Doffy was staring up the sandy trail which returned to that miserable town. He'd keep staring that direction as well, even when their boat cast off into the waves, dodging the naval ships like a rat from the daytime. Even when the island slipped into the veil of twilight, shrank into a speck and was gone._

 _Doffy looked back. That's what Vergo would notice about him most in those first few years. He was always looking back. Always. Half of him stuck the way he came._

 _Vergo's jaw tightened. Trebol's fingers dug in._

" _Show your king," he hissed, "what it means to be free."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Something dead was in the water. Doflamingo observed the vulture, its silhouette sloping up and down with the wind, gliding in languid circles. The feathers were a deep jet black. The size of its body behemoth and fragmented beneath the muffled starlight.

How odd. He didn't recall birds so large being native to the West Blue. Must have migrated then, from some open region of the New World.

 _Where Zunesha walks for eternity._ Rosi stood on the bench behind him.

Doflamingo didn't move.

 _One of my favorite stories, wasn't it? His terrible crime, the punishment which followed. How he carved a place in the sea for every living thing. You even said we'd go find him for ourselves one day._

Rosi craned his head, staring up at him.

 _But you didn't want to see Zunesha, did you? You didn't care about the greater, wider world. You didn't care about the world, let alone what was in it._

 _And you were bored to death of the tale actually. It made you tired and annoyed, telling it and re-telling it._

 _I know what occupied your thoughts then. I know. So why'd you keep saying such things to me? Offering all those words you didn't mean._

 _You lied to me, Doffy._

 _You promised and you lied._

"For you," Doflamingo said, knuckles bleached of blood, "It was for _you._ Always. I don't fucking understand what you want from me—"

"Young Master?"

He paused. Doflamingo glanced behind him slowly. Beneath the mast pole stood Jora and Senor Pink, the latter expression-less, the former ghost-white and eyes darting every which way.

"Are you speaking with someone? I-I thought I heard…"

Doflamingo turned fully. His hands, with twisting strings still attached, were stuffed into his pockets.

"What is it?" he said, already half a snap, his patience a sliver, "Did you find more of that shit after all?"

Jora stared. She seemed reluctant for the subject to be changed. Senor Pink intercepted.

"Not a drop. Ship's completely out."

His eye twitched. "I see."

In that case, he didn't much care what they were here for.

Senor Pink continued though, before he could banish them. "We were just thinking it might be a good idea to get more. Wherever Vergo was shipping it from. If it's a thing you need, Young Master."

Need? Doflamingo almost started laughing. There was only one thing in this entire world he needed right now.

"No. It's fine."

A sigh escaped Senor Pink. He sent a dull shrug at Jora's look of alarm and turned for the stairs without another word.

Jora didn't follow. She wrung her hands. Something of realization dawned upon her face.

"Young Master," she whispered, "I think we should go. I-If you really do need it, if there's—"

"It's fine," Doflamingo said again, just as softly, and returned to the sea. On some remote level inside him, he recognized they were worried. Knew they were afraid.

But he didn't care. He couldn't even see straight. He was plummeting again. Burning, burning, burning alive.

And they were gone to him by the time Jora could find the courage to protest again. Senor Pink grabbed her arm and guided her away.

The vulture's beak opened. A low, nasally whine.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The Marines seemed to be visiting all the islands in the North Blue. Not with the typical, unobtrusive vessels of routine circuits either. These ships bore crisp blue sails-the ones signaling only the most decorated of officers. Vice admirals at the least._

 _Whatever it was they sought, they were still looking. Doggedly. With vehement purpose._

 _It was unnerving._

 _They moved islands then every four to five days. Rosinante was not on any of them. Vergo wondered if Doffy had honestly expected otherwise._

" _Didn't you hear me?" he was sneering now, small arms wrapped around himself. "I said I don't want it. Just leave me alone."_

 _Vergo didn't move. The bowl of broth and rice steamed in his hands. "You haven't eaten in two days."_

" _Not hungry."_

" _That can't be true."_

" _Shut up!" Doffy snarled out of nowhere, knuckles cracking, "What do_ _ **you**_ _know about what's true."_

 _His head snapped to the greasy window again right after, without any evident care for a response. Vergo sighed, placing the food on a nearby crate. He hoped the smell would help tempt Doffy, but it didn't seem very probable. He was in that sullen mood again. Silent for more hours of the day than not. Practicing the Ito Ito powers obsessively, while curled against that dirty sill and glaring into the sea._

 _Like his brother was going to materialize in the waves, if only he wanted it long enough._

" _Doffy, isn't there something I can do for you?"_

" _Go away."_

 _Vergo's shoulders fell. His nod dutiful._

" _Okay."_

 _Doffy made not a sound as he turned to exit. In fact, Vergo was nearly at the door by the time he suddenly spoke again, quiet enough that a hard breath could've drowned him out._

"… _was it me?"_

 _Vergo stopped._

" _When I cut off Father's head," Doffy noted, in the way one would a passing cloud, "Rosi wouldn't stop crying. Wouldn't listen to anything I said. I was trying to get us home. I took the sole option we had. And he wouldn't even look at me. Wouldn't even…"_

 _Vergo walked back into the room._

" _Doffy," he said, three steps from the sill, "Your brother ran, because he didn't understand you. Because he couldn't see past himself or what you were trying to do for him. He was ungrateful, Doffy, and blind. That's all. You didn't do anything wrong."_

 _A heavy pause reigned. Doffy rested a cheek on his knee, the grayed sunlight washing down half his face. It made no reflection in his scarred eye._

" _Blind?" he muttered._

 _Vergo nodded, arms folding tight. He was not Trebol, a stinking well-spring of deceit. He told Doffy only what he sincerely believed. Honestly believed._

 _Immutably. Irrevocably._

" _Yes, Doffy," Vergo said, "He was blind."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Children had been at the base. Violent, dangerous ones. So much that they'd had to be separately escorted from the quay.

Vergo bore his gaze into the wall, trying to parse out his thoughts.

The conclusion seemed obvious, but he wouldn't assume just yet. Doffy was not in the mindset for reckless deductions. What he needed was to confirm it true with his own eyes, but the skiffs had already departed. He'd missed them, while standing for that idiotic guard duty.

A mistake.

He'd definitely made a mistake.

"Vice Admiral Tsuru will be taking them to headquarters. She's about ten miles off in that fog out there," the ensign was saying, anxiously shuffling papers at his desk, "I've been keeping it quiet to avoid panic, but…the Donquixote Family's here. No reason clear yet. Vale's not equipped for that kind of pirate crew though. 's why the vice admiral couldn't come ashore herself."

"Perhaps they're here for those children?" Vergo said, stiff and straight in his chair, "Wasn't there any indication of where they came from? Who was it again, that brought them in?"

The ensign's eyes shifted. Flicking to the upper right corner. Down again in a diagonal line.

Lying.

"Just one of my men."

The papers sifted again, stacked and re-stacked. Vergo stared, until the ensign looked away. His foot tapped on the office carpet. Ebony. Shipped from Paradise, the ensign had boasted just an hour ago during their more amicable beginnings.

"Your men. Of course. Which one, might I ask?

"O-Oh, he's not here anymore. Got transferred this morning. We do a lot of rotation with other bases, haha. Standard protocol in Vale."

Vergo smiled. "I see. Then perhaps I could take a glance at the status report he filed instead. You do file status reports in Vale, don't you? No matter how trivial or confidential the case may be."

The ensign's eyes widened.

"Ah…we do, sir, but…" he hesitated, hands fidgeting, "…It is standard protocol in Vale that all standard protocols in Vale are—"

A Den Den Mushi started to ring. The ensign jolted in his seat. Vergo's gaze fell to his pocket.

"Excuse me," he said and stood. A hurried nod was sent at him, the relief of it almost palpable.

Vergo supposed it was due.

He'd been about to shatter the man's face after all.

Fate was a fickle thing, as Doffy use to say.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _They took longer refuge in pirate towns. Some of the inhabitants steered clear of Doffy right away. Conniving bandits, quicksilver thieves, any man who survived by the skin of teeth and intuition. Doffy's eyes were hidden, but there was something of him—an air, a vibe—which said it all._

 _Here there be monsters._

 _And they were not ashamed to run from a boy. Vergo wished Doffy would enjoy it a bit more. The idea of full-grown men fleeing in their wake was beyond amusing._

 _But Doffy didn't care. He didn't enjoy really anything. He sat on the sills, the rooftops, the decrepit railings of filthy harbors where he could've fell and drowned instantly and watched the sea._

 _He searched for Rosinante._

 _It had to end. At this point, none of them had any idea where the younger Donquixote could be. He could've been dead actually, for all they knew. Vergo did hope so (secretly, very secretly)._

 _Rosinante was gone, whatever the case. And Doffy, in any practical sense, was free. It was just the realization he was lacking._

" _What happened?" Vergo asked, as Doffy stalked past, spitting out a bloody wad of saliva as he went, "Who did that to you?"_

" _Fucker living in the church."_

" _That old groundskeeper again?" Diamante shook his head. "He does have it out for you, doesn't he?"_

 _Doffy stared at the ground. "I like the belfry. It's high up and quiet. I was only sitting up there and…" He trailed off, stood there a moment, and then abruptly smashed his fist so hard into a barrel the flesh of his knuckles split wide._

" _Wish he'd die," Doffy hissed, chewing on an already busted lip, "He should die."_

 _Diamante and Pica didn't speak, staring at his blood-wet hand. Trebol cackled like always. The sound scrabbled through the dead winter leaves. "Behehe…"_

 _And Vergo looked Doffy in the eye._

" _Then it shall be."_

 _He would march the groundskeeper up all eighteen flights of the steeple stairs later, prodding him forward at gun-point in the crimson evening. Would kick him off, screaming and sobbing, from the very edge of the belfry to a brilliant and splattering death. Left a maroon stain in the pavement that no rain ever quite washed clean._

 _Doffy gazed at it from the same spot the next morning. And the many mornings which followed suit too._

 _He watched them brutalize any person who so much as disrespected his name and massacre those that dared to strike._

 _What things he must have thought then—they would probably never be sure. But Doffy's mind had certainly begun to turn, every cog now awake._

 _A crack in those chains that Vergo alone could see._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The call was from Jora.

It was such an exceedingly rare occurrence that Vergo did little for most of it but stand there and listen. She was worried, he'd gathered, and thought she'd seen Doffy talking to nobody.

"There isn't any left either," she said, "Of…that wine you would send him. It must've been special, right? Helped him somehow. We tried to bring up the idea of getting more, but the Young Master…he isn't listening. He doesn't want to go anywhere. Could you get him more, Vergo? Ship it to us like you use to? Where are you right now anyway?"

Vergo hung up without answering a single question.

Then he stood in the gleaming, wax-polished hallway and mulled things over for several beats.

It was unquestionable that he'd be getting Doffy more wine. He was frankly surprised the supply hadn't run out sooner, lasting over three and a half years. For a while even, it almost seemed Doffy hadn't needed it at all.

Something must have changed. What exactly of course, Vergo didn't waste time pondering.

The main problem, he knew, was that Doffy would never let him depart for Punk Hazard if he told him what he'd uncovered today. Even with that percentage of uncertainty.

Not a single chance in Hell.

He would demand more proof, demand Rosinante in the flesh and be more convinced than ever his brother was in Vale. He'd not care who saw him in that state, or how much he was hallucinating.

A muscle in Vergo's cheek spasmed sharply.

He wasn't going to let Doffy walk back into his chains. Into his cage.

He re-dialed the Den Den Mushi.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Vergo called at last.

Doflamingo leaned against the mast pole, ear piece held up to his paling face. In that same spot, the vulture was still circling. There was an inexplicable itch in him to shoot it out of the sky. It swelled the longer Vergo spoke.

Rosi…wasn't in Vale. There'd been no signs, not even remotely, that he'd ever stepped foot in the kingdom at all. Not of him or the kids. Nothing.

How could that be?

 _What did you expect?_ the ghost said, leaning on the pole beside him, the top of his head against Doflamingo's knee, _You didn't ever know me._

Doflamingo's jaw went white.

Vergo was apologizing. "I've got another lead though, so we can meet up again later. Maybe another three months from now depending on how long it takes. But you should get out of these waters first. I heard Tsuru confronted the ship at some point. There's a risk she might chase you so…"

Rosi wasn't in Vale. He wasn't here. He'd never been. Even though Doflamingo had been so sure, so certain.

"…what would you like me to do? How should we proceed?"

He'd been wrong. Stood here waiting like a fool, wasting all his time on this _goddamn city_ when Rosi was probably thousands of miles away. He'd misread completely and whatdidthatmeanwhatdidthatmean? Had he misread about everything else too?

Had Rosi really…he really had betrayed…

"Doffy?"

Doflamingo blinked. Rosi was sitting directly across from him now, nose-to-nose and legs crossed, hovering mid-air like a puppet on strings.

 _Does it hurt yet, brother?_

"Doffy." The Den Den Mushi looked grave. "What do you want to do?")

* * *

xxx

* * *

"We'll run," Doffy said finally, voice dry and rasping. He sounded distant, like he was about to float out of his body.

Vergo's frame relaxed in relief anyway.

"Okay."

"You'll have to…create a distraction for us. Force her back to Vale somehow."

"Understood. Anything particular in mind?"

Again, Doffy was quiet. His breathing was strained.

"No," he said, right before hanging up, "just make it quick."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The marines gave up their strange hunt after one year, lifting their boot off the North Blue's throat. By then, Doffy had stopped looking out to sea. He still mentioned Rosinante, still thought about him, but the frequency grew less by the day._

 _The final time would be in the summer, three months before his fifteenth birthday._

 _And it began with a skinned knee, reaped from an unevenly paved road. Trebol and Diamante loomed and sneered at the shredded flesh, tutting that this would not do. They could not have anyone disrespecting their young master. Pica was already plodding out the door, a rusted mace slung over one shoulder._

 _"It was just the road," Doffy said blankly, "What are you going to do?"_

 _Vergo tucked a lead pipe into his pocket and folded his hands behind his back. A matchbook hung on his jawbone, swaying back and forth in a lazy arc. "It'll be a surprise." His smile was cold and rare—identical to the one he'd wear afterwards, disinfecting Doffy's knee._

 _"You burned the whole town."_

 _"Yes, Doffy."_

 _"Why? I told you it was the road."_

 _"Road's part of the town. Guilt by association," Vergo lifted his head. "They deserved what they got."_

 _Doffy stared at the soot on his fingertips, smudges gathered from Vergo's shirt and hair. Unbeknownst to Vergo, he was recalling the Mariejois slaves then—those spontaneous beatings which had occurred in the broad daylight and made the glittering streets burn of bile and metal._

 _Saint Blackwood had always provided explanations, very pertinent reasons you see, that spanned the scope of gender and race and bloodline. Guilt by association. Doffy was figuring it made sense enough. Deep down, it wasn't what he cared about anyway._

 _"What if he'd been there?"_

 _Vergo's smile disappeared, resuming its flat, insipid line. "He wasn't."_

 _"How do you know that? He could've been trying to find me."_

 _Vergo placed one hand on Doffy's shoulders, held his chin with the other one._

 _"Doffy, he wasn't there," ash-rimmed nails touched the golden locks of hair, parted the soft lengthening fringe of bangs, "He never will be. He left. He didn't understand. He's not going to find you and you don't belong with him anyway."_

 _Only with us._

 _Only with_ me.

" _We're the ones who understand, Doffy," Vergo breathed, "And we're never leaving."_

 _Doffy sat still. He didn't reply and he didn't pull away. And when Vergo took him to the ruins of the town that night, beneath the star-spilled sky, Doffy yanked him backwards and kissed him. He tasted the same way he smelled. Fire and honey. Molten gold._

" _My Vergo," Doffy said, softly._

 _That was the end of Rosinante for a long, long time._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The ensign wasn't fond of smoking. Quite rare for a marine. He'd been confiscating lighters from the subordinates for a considerable time. Vergo found forty-eight of them piled up in the first drawer, clearly intended for disposal. Metal casings and plastics, neons and translucents where the fluid could be seen bubbling.

Vergo selected an onyx one, heavy as lead, that produced a fat and merry flame.

"You're the interfering type, aren't you?" he said, watching it dance, "Trying to change people that don't need to be changed."

Vergo stepped over the ensign's twitching body with due care, avoiding any smear of gore on his shoes. It had spilled from the man's skull like pink rotted fruit. Doffy would be displeased if he were caught for something as incompetent as a stain. The stack of reports he slipped into an envelope, before tucking it beneath his elbow.

At the doorway, Vergo turned one final time. "Should've made this your standard protocol instead," he said, "Better always to let things lie."

The lighter was tossed behind him.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Although Doflamingo was the one who'd been standing on deck, he didn't see the fires (or really even anything) until the Family had burst up the stairs and crowded at the prow.

"Over there, Young Master!" Gladius said, jabbing a finger into the foggy distance. The flames were like hazy orbs of light, sprouting higher with each slice of a second, eating a path into the steel blue landscape. Fire was always full of energy, for a thing so insatiable.

Doflamingo just looked at it. Any other time, he would've cursed Vergo out. What a stupidly reckless idea. Now though, it barely even registered. They waited only minutes before Tsuru's ship promptly turned, heading for the kingdom with blazing speed.

Doflamingo snatched whoever was closest. Jora, who jumped a mile.

"Set a course for the Grand Line.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

The vulture glided through the fog of Vale's waterfront. The kingdom behind it was burning. Sirens wailing, marines and citizens scrambling to evacuate. It chittered obliviously. Barked with triumph. Its prize, its prize.

A drowned paradise bird hung in its beak.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(They made for shore at a deserted beach. Rosinante dragged the boat through the sand with one hand, carrying Law in the crook of his other arm. The child had been asleep for most of the ride and Rosinante nearly started when he spoke, a small, thoughtful murmur in the quiet.

"I missed one."

"Law?"

The boy tried to sit up a bit more. He peered over Rosinante's shoulder and pointed. "His wine."

Rosinante turned around too and that was when he finally noticed the bottle that had been wedged into a corner of the boat, covered previously by a loosened tarp.

"It's that stuff he always had on hand," Law said, "Jora said it smelled like gasoline. She said it couldn't be good for him and so I should throw it all overboard."

"You _what?_ " Rosinante's blood had gone a little cold. "...Did you?"

Law shrugged. "Not all of it clearly."

The boat fell out of his hand, thunking into the slimy terrain. He grabbed it up again a second later, hurriedly pushing it towards the water, wading in to his ankles. He was coming up with some irrational idea to store the bottle in a water-proof basket, send it to the Donquixote ship who-knows-how-many miles back the way they came. Somehow.

 _How could you do that?_ He almost shouted at Law, before choking the words back down. The kid didn't know. He'd meant well.

"What?" Law said, eyes becoming more awake, reading something in the expression of his face, "It's just booze right?"

"No," Rosinante muttered, listening to his own heart pound, "it's not."

"Huh? But I—no one ever said—then what is it? Did he tell you?"

"He didn't have to tell me, Law, I just kne—"

The rest of the sentence died on his tongue. Rosinante stopped abruptly. Stopped dead.

He knew? That wasn't true. Doffy hadn't liked to discuss it, never made the attempt to and so Rosinante had drawn his own conclusions over the years. He'd never doubted the wine was medicinal though, that it was necessary for some reason or other.

But where was this certainty coming from? He'd thought a lot of things about his brother that hadn't been true in the end. Doffy lied. He'd broken the only promise Rosinante had desperately needed him to keep. He'd murdered Father, _murdered_ him, and kept on smiling.

Rosinante didn't know him at all.

Law's eyes widened as a particularly large wave swept onto them, soaking Rosinante to the knees. "Corazón?" he said, clutching his shirt uneasily.

There was a moment where Rosinante didn't move, staring at nothing. Then he towed the boat back ashore.

"You're right, kid," he mumbled, "It's probably…booze. Like you said. Probably nothing."

 _Just like us, huh, Doffy?_ Came the tired little thought. _Nothing._ )

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _That's not true," Rosinante's chin started to wobble. "You're lying."_

" _Am not." Vergo stepped closer. "It kills you to stay. And you don't actually love him anyway."_

" _Yes, I do."_

 _Rosinante started when Vergo leaned in, crouching over him. His glasses were pitch black. Tar black. The leathery wings of a nightmare._

" _Well, he doesn't love_ _ **you,**_ _" Vergo said, "and he doesn't need you either. You're scared and you're weak and you're nothing. So just run away, Rosinante."_

 _Run away._


	21. sengoku: veritas

_**sengoku: veritas - "reality" or "truth"**_

* * *

(His old man called.

Nearly every day at the exact same hours of noon and night. Rosinante stared at the Den Den Mushi in his hand as it started up again, dread coiling in his gut. From his new vantage point on his back and clinging to his coat like a baby spider monkey, Law tilted his head. The boy had yet to get annoyed, or even ask about the caller.

"It's ringing again."

He sighed. "Yeah."

"How come you never answer?"

How come indeed. Rosinante looked down the beach. There were silvery clumps of ferns and oak further inland, along with other soft-looking shrubs. It'd be the best shelter until dawn. He started walking and ignored the Den Den Mushi with pursed lips until it went still.

In his heart, he knew Sengoku was worried and that it was wrong to keep him in the dark for this long. But the dread of what might be said overpowered his guilt.

The palpable disappointment and pity, the 'I told you so' echoing and echoing, intended or otherwise, unspoken or not, hanging over it all. Rosinante wasn't sure he'd survive hearing that right now.

If ever. Truly.

"I wouldn't know what to say," he told Law.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _There'd been reports of violent unrest in the North Blue. Not atypical in recent years. The entire region had been a pressure-cooker set to explode for quite some time. Crime rampant and discontent high. Despots wringing the necks of their poverty-stricken towns. Three-league wide class gaps and more souls than any other blue fleeing to the sea for piracy._

 _The World Government was reluctant to divert aid. North Blue was a cold, crumbling crust of land and ocean. It provided precious little in the way of resources or income. Not like the fertile valleys of the West or the warm, exotic isles of East and South which attracted Celestial Dragons by the dozens._

 _"It's a matter of logic, not justice," the Gorosei said when Fleet Admiral Kong protested, "Don't configure this equation to suit your own needs. That region was never fit to prosper. Yours is not to change its destiny."_

 _They spoke as if they understood-these rich, old men, whose blood had deemed them divine. Up in the sun-glazed treetops regarding the detritus below. The Fleet Admiral never did appeal to them again._

 _He simply reassigned Sengoku on his next stint as guard for some World Noble's masquerade ball. Told him to find the root of the destruction._

 _"You don't weigh what's practical, before what's just," Kong had said, "And you don't let destiny, of all fucking things, take the place of what's true."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

The call went to voicemail.

Sengoku rubbed his forehead, mopping his hand up and down his face. "Rosinante," he began for the hundredth time. "Damn it, pick up, boy. Where are you? Are those children still with you? Your brother's rampaging across the Grand Line, what in god's name happened?"

He waited a beat, hoped with bated breath for the line to click and be picked up. It didn't.

Sengoku sighed. "If this is about that island..." he said, more quietly, "...it wasn't your fault. Please just call me back. At least tell me you're okay. Please, son."

Then he hung up and kneaded his temples, elbows propped on his desk.

Aside from that single contact Rosinante had made months ago, he hadn't heard another word since. He'd long run the gambit of ordering and yelling and pleading. None of it worked. The boy could be ungodly stubborn if the urge arose. One of only a handful of things he and that degenerate sibling of his had in common.

Sengoku swiped those thoughts aside with another sigh. That way lay a cup with no bottom.

The Den Den Mushi rang.

He scrambled, almost knocking the poor snail over in his haste.

"Rosinante?"

Only a pause answered, before a different voice filtered through, deliberate and neutral.

"I'm gathering he still hasn't picked up."

His shoulders fell. "Tsuru." Sengoku sat down. "What do you have?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _At the heart of it all was Homing Donquixote. A golden-haired man with riches and power and birthrights beyond imagining. His wife so lovely, his possessions so many._

 _He had given it up-all of the heavens for a greater, wider world-moved his family below with the naivete of a child. Sengoku learned of their mansion, devoured by the flames, and how they'd been chased out in the night and hunted like rabbits from the slavering jaws of wolves._

 _By the time he'd stepped foot on that final island, Sengoku was actively searching for them._

 _The town was a glorified collection of hovels, each row more matchstick than the next. There was no dock and no road, save for an indented trail through the low, sandy hill of the beach. Shutters tight, curtains drawn, no one out and about they could speak to._

 _Just piles of broken nails. Cobwebs a mile long. Butterflies. That earthen smell of rain._

 _And a boy._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Vale is _what?"_

"No longer on fire as of a few minutes ago," Tsuru said, her flat expression mirrored in the eyes of the snail, "But the situation isn't pretty. About thirty casualties at the base and citizens had to be evacuated into the mountains. Seems the fire was sprouting up in multiple areas of the town too and spreading quickly. A serial arsonist is the guess for the time-being."

"And you haven't located the CO yet?"

"He wasn't there when we re-docked. None of his subordinates have seen him for hours." There was a grave note in Tsuru's voice. Sengoku's eyes narrowed, but knew it wasn't prudent to leap to conclusions just yet.

"The Family, what were they doing?"

"Sitting in front of me outside the kingdom. I suppose they've likely run by now." An irritated click of the tongue. "Such fortune on their parts."

"Fortune?" Sengoku's hands closed. "They could've been involved."

"Possible. But Doflamingo had no connections in Vale as far as we know, property or people. No reason for him to do this."

"And he needs a reason?"

The snail stared at him with what he swore was a flash of disapproval. It said, "I hope this isn't the type of talk you've been filling Rosinante's head with."

"What talk?"

"All these personal reviews of his brother."

He scoffed. "You mean _the truth,_ Tsuru?"

"You ought to let the boy decide for himself what's true, Sengoku." The Den Den Mushi's eyes narrowed. "Did you say something you shouldn't have?"

His brow ticked, slightly baffled that he was suddenly being interrogated. But Tsuru was giving him that look of hers and he knew he had better sift his brain and provide a proper answer.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _He was teetering on the trail leading to shore. So small Sengoku nearly thought him a ghost. Crooked tears and thumb-smears of blood crusted along his mouth._

 _A whimper piped from his throat when Sengoku knelt down, taking his shoulders gently to keep the child from hurting himself. The hair was gleaming gold, even matted as it was, and the eyes like the brick-dust of an old house. They shined with untold horrors and Sengoku tried his best to look into them._

 _"It's alright," he said, "Let me help you."_

 _The boy stared at Sengoku like he thought him a mirage. He did not speak for so long Sengoku almost worried he might be mute, before the small voice crept out at last, rough and trembling._

 _"...help?"_

 _Sengoku nodded in relief. "Yes, kid," he said, delicately squeezing the brittle-worn shoulders, "We're going to help you, I promise."_

 _And in hindsight, he supposed that'd been a lie, for he'd not the first idea then of what helping this boy could mean._

 _"Come with us," Sengoku said, offering his hand, "It's okay now."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

"I told Rosinante...that Doflamingo couldn't be saved. That all the parts of him which mattered were gone. And he simply isn't worth it in the end."

There was a silence that spoke volumes and Sengoku's frown deepened. "Am I wrong? He surrendered his entire life, Tsuru. A million paths he could've taken and he chose the one leading back."

"It was for his brother."

"And it shouldn't have been," Sengoku said, hesitating with his words for only a moment, "Every night he use to wake up screaming, begging me to return him to that island. The whole first year. You remember."

How many hours had he sat with the child? Until the night had melted into daybreak, until those sobbing, delirious words were all that vibrated in the atoms of that space.

 _I ran away...I couldn't look...He's out there all alone...it's because of me..._

"But that is love," Tsuru said, "It wouldn't be so if it did not hurt."

"Then he hurts pointlessly."

Another blink. "...Do you find Doflamingo so undeserving?"

Sengoku froze.

"That isn't a fair question."

"Oh, please. It's the fairest one there can be."

He scowled and glared at his hands. Glared for a long beat, before he sighed, eyes shutting as he took off his glasses to rub them.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The boy was so unsteady that Sengoku scooped him up in the end, fearing he'd fall. The weight was virtually nothing. A tuft of feathers in his arms._

 _The men stared, hovering at the perimeters in shock and pity. Tsuru watched too. Her brilliant eyes cool and bemused. She said nothing as Sengoku passed by._

 _They'd learn in time that the boy's name was Rosinante. That the headless corpse of his father, Homing, was rotting in the dry, white sun. And his mother only bones in a shallow, hand-dug grave. Two years buried._

 _"You had no one?"_

 _Rosinante's eyes welled. He clutched the blanket they'd draped over him and shook his head._

 _"I had Doffy."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

"I know," Sengoku said, "that he didn't deserve what happened either. And that he can't help who he is. I wish we'd found him then too, I always will." He slid the glasses back on. "But you cannot go through life by wishing. He's a monster now, whatever the past may have been. And Rosinante should let him go."

Tsuru stared. "Because he's the last of his family and that's a thing so easy to let go."

"Blood shouldn't be a chain."

A sigh. "No," she agreed, "it should not. But this is my point. You may not believe Doflamingo was worth it, but Rosinante certainly did. And what they made of each other, that was between them. Neither you or anyone else had the right to interfere."

"I never interfered..." But he trailed off at Tsuru's stare, beckoning him to finish. Sengoku's skin prickled with indignation, the whole of him bristling, and his mouth opened once and then shut.

Then he stared at his desk and said nothing.

The goat trotted in before the silence could commence. Petite hooves _klip-klopping_ over the wood boards.

It bleated, tilting its white head at him, before catching eye of Sengoku's coat-sleeve and making a dash for it instead.

A bit dumbly, Sengoku watched it chew on the tailor-made cuff. The bouncy little creature had been a gift to Rosinante years ago, to provide him some company and cheer him from his pain.

A godsend honestly. He could've counted the number of times Rosinante had smiled before then on one hand. He'd been such a heartbreaking child. So quiet and curled constantly at the window.

A knot twisted in Sengoku's chest.

"I am sorry for his brother," he found himself saying, "He never had the prayer of a chance and for that, I'll always be sorry. But this isn't the first time I've seen his type, Tsuru, and I know what he is. I can tell you now in all confidence that it's _too late_ and their time together is done."

His fists tightened. "Maybe I didn't have the right," Sengoku said, "maybe it'd been hard of me. But the boy's my son. And I'd rather him survive a thousand terrible truths than perish once in empty hope."

And to that end, he said no more. Tsuru's eyes watched him from the snail. He looked away.

A moment drifted past, before she sighed again.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"We'll find your brother," was the promise, meaningful and meaningless in turn._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Rosinante's fine, old man."

The Den Den Mushi barely blinked when Sengoku whipped his gaze back to it.

"Well, as fine as he can be. We've been in contact the past few days. To pick up two of the Donquixote children."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"That's the last piece of business we need to discuss actually." A hint of chagrin surfaced. "It's a terrible muck of coincidences. Our original plan had been for me to take up the children myself, as I had with the babe years ago." The Den Den Mushi rubbed its forehead. "However, given the situation in Vale and with their CO still missing, I had to send them to Saobody ahead of me."

Sengoku nodded slowly, trying to process what he'd just heard over the booming relief that Rosinante was still safe. "Understandable. What's the approximate ETA?"

"Unclear." She exhaled, sounding exasperated. "The children were, as you can imagine, distraught. And they were not part of the Family for nothing. It was too dangerous to have them moved together, so they were separated onto different boats. The boy on Skiff One and the girl on Two. They'd headed off as a pair, but got lost of each other somewhere in the New World, based on their latest radios."

Sengoku made the slightest of winces. That meant the boats could be arriving anywhere from hours to days to weeks apart from each other, depending on how the Grand Line behaved. Even months.

"I'll put patrols on alert."

The Den Den nodded, though its brow remained pinched. "To be frank, I'm concerned. The guards are capable, of course, but...Kaidou's been seen out of Wano Country. Not to mention other big names. Doflamingo's been interesting a lot of them in recent years."

Sengoku pursed his lips. He was aware. They wanted a slice of Doflamingo's success in North Blue. Now, while he was young and still receptive to relations. The chance that any of them would attack the skiffs for the children was entirely real. Or for worse, if the Family itself caught whiff of the trail and managed to take them back...

Rosinante wouldn't escape his brother's wrath then, no matter how complicated it all was. Sengoku couldn't even conceive otherwise.

"As long as they make it through New World," he said, nails digging into palms, "Saobody's already the closest Paradise island. They'd never be chased past there."

"I suppose." He could see the troubled steel of Tsuru's eyes, glinting in the Den Den Mushi. "But the New World is something else these days, Sengoku. You would have to see it to really know. A whole different ocean since Roger's time."

"I can imagine," Sengoku murmured. The entire place was turning into a rabid, free-for-all colosseum, pirates scrabbling for purchase and name, the Yonkou looming closer with each day, their old stalemates crumbling as the power vacuum grew ever more real. It was the after-birth of a fresh and unspeakable era, and there was not room enough for them all.

The goat bleated again and dropped his sleeve, interest suddenly lost. It ambled off and Sengoku watched it vanish into the corridor, swallowed by the shadows.

"But everything changes, old gal," he said softly, "And everything ends."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"We'll find your brother," they said, "We will, kid, don't worry. We will."_

 _They did not._

 _They did not._

 _They did not._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The days drifted.

Law didn't actually know where they were town-wise until their first mark of civilization after Vale-an island-affiliate of the Saobody and a popular destination for World Nobles. It had a long name that Law couldn't pronounce and Cora-san couldn't seem to remember, even though he heard it again and again.

Celestial Dragons visited this city. That was all Cora-san seemed to retain. Law recalled how Doflamingo had hated them, his sharp face twisting like a knife, though he'd tried to hide it then. Maybe Cora-san was the same.

Either way, Law didn't want to stop. If not for that hospital, sparkling and grand, he thought Cora-san would've agreed. But it was there and so Cora-san insisted. Law didn't argue for long. He tried not to argue too much these days. Cora-san had been...so incredibly sad recently, ever since they'd left Vale a month ago and Spider Miles several months before that. Like the entire world had just about ended for him.

It was his eyes. All their pain, even when he smiled or cracked a lame joke. Law was beginning to understand at last, what Baby had always been going on about.

So he didn't argue. If it would make Cora-san feel a bit better, he'd go. Even though it ended much the same way it always did and probably even a little worse.

"You're gross," a child Celestial Dragon said, creeping towards him, breath a moist puff against his helmet, "And you're gonna die."

Law hadn't even registered all the words, before the hospital chief was shouting and barreling over. He shoved Law away from the Celestial Dragon with such force that he went sprawling onto the ground. Breathless and seeing stars. A gaggle of voices spun through his ears, apologies and curses and cackles in turn. Words pelted at him. Death. Plague. Putrid little creature.

Cora-san picked him up. His eyes were blank as he brushed the dirt from Law's clothes and refitted his hat so it sat properly over his head again. His long, nicotine-stained fingers traced over the small, bleeding cut on his brow, clipped by a pebble while landing. They stared at each other and though Law tried hard, Cora-san still saw the tears clinging to the corners of his eyes and dabbed them with a sleeve.

"Stand back," he said, voice somewhere in the distance.

And then he stood and it struck Law too that he was about to watch Cora-san kill everyone.

"It's fine," he said, grabbing for his hand, "I'm okay. Let's just leave. Don't-"

"I said stand back."

"But-"

Cora-san's eyes glided emptily across the crowd, white-faced staff and sneering nobles alike. The expression was familiar and perhaps that's what made it terrifying. Like Doflamingo that night he'd come upon them at Spider Miles, the toothbrush shiv crushed under Cora-san's shoe, his blood still hot on Law's hands. It felt like a hundred years ago now, but Law had never forgotten how furious he'd been. How demonic and unrecognizable.

That wasn't Cora-san. Cora-san was shitty at cards and smoked too much and set himself on fire and gave the best hugs. He wasn't whatever Doflamingo had been that night. Whatever Law had been then too.

He didn't want the dark anymore.

And he didn't want this either.

"All of you," Cora-san said, " _all_ of you, are going to-"

Law plastered himself to his leg, before he could take another step. He opened his mouth.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Rosinante did not really recall leaving that city. Or the cold ocean spray that splashed his face at some point and snuffed his cigarette. He was pretty sure he had not stopped grinning for at least an hour now. Not that he could really recall that either.

" _Stop it,_ " the kid muttered from his lap, face burning and eyes permanently glued to the floor, "Stop it already, god, why are you making it a big deal?"

"Lemme hear it again," Rosinante wheedled, leaning over to poke the boy's cheek. "One more time, please?"

Law turned to try and bite his finger. "No."

"But it was so cute." Rosinante pouted. "Soothed every part of my savage soul."

A half-strangled noise replied, madly trying to disguise its underlying giggle. Kid was always so disappointed in himself for cracking up at his jokes. _Like Doffy,_ a corner of Rosinante supplied. Hard to ignore, but he managed.

"You didn't even listen to me anyway," Law said.

"What? How dare you, brat. Yes, I did."

"You set the hospital on fire."

Rosinante cast a glance over his shoulder, the glowing ream of orange and yellow reflecting in his eyes. He shrugged.

"They all got out."

He wasn't sorry. Not in the least. And didn't care that he wasn't either. Rosinante tightened his arm around the child, pulled him close.

"Besides, they messed with my kid."

And he kept steering. Didn't see Law blink and finally glance up at him. Didn't see him smile.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

The months cooled into autumn. Scarlet-stained and leaf carpets underfoot. Beautiful in the sad, ironic way that was progression towards death. It was in the midst of that time, the smack-center perhaps, that Sengoku received the call.

Not from Rosinante, like he still waited and waited for, but a number that made Sengoku snatch up the mouth piece with the same knife-like haste.

He listened with narrowed eyes and a hard jaw. And soon afterwards, he hung up without a word. Sat at his desk with hands crossed and gathered his thoughts.

Then he picked up the line once more and flipped channels to contact all vice admirals of the New World.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(In the toxic halls of Punk Hazard, following Caesar down to his laboratory, Vergo received a call.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The marines scoured the island. Every nook and corner and alleyway. Places bordering the absurd like drain pipes and treetops. "How hard is it to find one child?" Sengoku finally snapped after a month, slamming a fist down when the latest search returned unsuccessful. The table vibrated from the force and his mug toppled, spilling tea leaves onto the ground. The men kept their eyes low. They gave no response, aside from mumbling more apologies at the floor._

 _Tsuru planted her hands on the map and studied it, ignoring Sengoku's outburst entirely. "The adjacent islands haven't turned up anything either. We should expand the radius." Her gaze swept towards him. "And perhaps it's time we consider bringing in the divers."_

 _The words left a shape behind. Sengoku glared at a crooked nail on the wall, his face pale. He nodded. Even a body was better than this desperate, aimless searching. They could at least have a burial, let Rosinante say goodbye. It was better than nothing at all._

 _But that was what they'd get in the end, after one year. Nothing._

 _Rosinante had been inconsolable by half of that, torn apart with regret. He begged endlessly to be taken back and tried to scramble over the rail when they were finally forced to pull from the North Blue._

 _"No!" he screamed, over and over, even as officers blocked his path, whispered placations for him to calm, "No, no, let me go! Let me_ _ **go!**_ _Doffy! No!"_

 _Sengoku reached for him, feeling weak and heavy. "Rosinante-"_

 _The boy snatched his arm first, fingers bunching the cuff. His tear-soaked eyes were wide and betrayed. Bright and broken as a piece of shrapnel._

 _"No," he whispered, "Please..."_

 _Sengoku got on his knees._

 _"I'm sorry," he said._

 _I'm sorry._

* * *

xxx

* * *

For several seconds after speaking with the vice admirals, Sengoku also hovered over a peculiar red button at the corner of the dial panel, the silicone cap flipped open and his thumb upon the center. It was a message holder leading from base to Rosinante's handheld Den Den Mushi, installed so he could listen in on debriefs if necessary. He supposed, strictly speaking, that this wouldn't be one of them.

But Rosinante was without his brother's protection now and would need all the forewarning he got.

Sengoku sighed. This could've been so much easier if the boy would just pick up. Stop for a moment and allow a chance to talk.

He pushed the button.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Cora-san seemed happier in the later months. It really made him smile when Law called him by that name and the boy almost felt foolish for not having done so from the beginning. He had a distant recollection of planning to and then becoming more and more afraid as time went on, when he thought he'd be buried in another twelve months and serve as nothing but a painful reminder for Cora-san. He knew a lot better than most kids how much a memory could hurt.

Doflamingo had pried this out of him when they were alone and then laughed like he'd never heard of a more absurd thing in his life. _"You're precious,"_ he said, _"And you think too much. Just call him Cora-san. He'll be overjoyed, I promise you. Ecstatic in fact."_

 _You got it so easy, boy, make him happy for me, huh?_

Doflamingo grinned and Law remembered thinking then that it almost looked tired. It'd been right before they left for that island. The night with the moon and those little gray birds, darting in and out of the sails. Law remembered that too.

 _Purupuru...purupuru..._

The Den Den Mushi dribbled over to Law through the grass, made him blink at the strange red light on its shell-one he hadn't noticed before-flickering on and off.

"Cora-san," he flagged, as the man hooked a pot over the fire for breakfast, humming an idle tune. He pointed at the snail and maybe the light signified something to Cora-san too, since he dropped the spoon straight onto the ground.

"Do the stirring for a while?" he said, and handed Law a fork.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The Young Master wasn't the most complicated to read when he was under stress. He had a set three of moods he was always cycling through, some stages longer than others. The Family and even the more veteran members of the outer crew had all but memorized the carousel.

Confusion. Displeasure. Fury.

The past three months had been the most volatile ring-around yet. Pink didn't think they'd ever be able to fix the railing again-the Young Master's Haki had warped the bolts. Even the ones beneath the slats. He'd also destroyed his room somewhere along the way too-these elongated slices through the floor that resembled the work of some oversized rototiller.

And he'd jumped Displeasure and gone straight to Fury, back-tracked to Confusion and then was Fury again.

And again.

And again.

" _Why_ does it _take_ so long FOR YOU TO GET SHIT DONE?"

Jora startled at the sudden series of crashes and bangs from inside the warehouse, grabbing for Pink's shoulder out of reflex. He let her, releasing a listless cloud of smoke. The whimpers and pleas and sobs, all those previous noises, had ceased within the fraction of that second. The Young Master didn't sound done though. Things, heavy and dull and wet, were flung and crushed into walls.

It went on for at least a minute, before he finally stepped out. Face half-slathered in blood and chest heaving. They straightened instantly, but he didn't look at them. Didn't see them. He floated back to the ship as if drunk, a handful of feathers vanishing into the dusty fall.

"Holy fuck," Diamante muttered, trailing out after with Trebol, both their faces the color of paste. They'd been looking much a mess too with each passing day. All the executives actually, though Pink supposed they'd never had the Young Master so pissed at them before.

Find my brother, had been the basic gist. Or they won't find you.

 _Purupurupuru...purupurupuru..._

Diamante rummaged for the Den Den Mushi, expression contorting once he pulled it out. "It's Vergo," he said, and tossed the creature to Jora, "...Go give it to Doffy."

Jora didn't seem especially eager. She obeyed however, hurrying to the ship on clattering white heels.

"Isn't this fucking deja vu," Diamante muttered, pulling at his hair again. He stared at Trebol. "What do we do now?"

Trebol just sweated and didn't respond.

Pink watched them, leaning against a junked-up wagon. Personally, he was having trouble believing the Young Master had been wrong about Vale. He'd always been spot-on about Corazón before. There were times Pink could've sworn they were reading each other's thoughts.

The entire situation in general felt off somehow, but Pink supposed he didn't really know. The news had come from Vergo, who always had his facts straight, and Pink didn't want to go poking at something he had no business in anyway.

The captain didn't need another thing to obsess over.

Sometimes in fact, Senor Pink would look at him and be strangely reminded of a debate he'd once had with Russian, when he'd wanted a skylight installed at the slanted angle of their roof. She'd rejected all his arguments about the correct material or the quality of the view, worried foremost about it shattering during a storm.

Because it didn't matter how beautiful a thing was, or how strong. The right type of pressure would render everything moot.

 _And all those shards,_ she had said, _raining down._ )

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _"Who is Doffy?" asked Sengoku._

 _Dirt-rimmed fingers hugged bony kneecaps._

 _"My brother."_

 _It was with effort that Sengoku kept the startled look off his features. From the entrance of the cabin, Tsuru's gaze pierced upon them like an arrow. She stepped into the hallway quickly, muttering to the men to sweep the beach and surrounding trail a second time. Rosinante caught the edge of her coat and blinked. Unease started clouding his face, before Sengoku managed to distract him._

 _"Can you tell me more about Doffy, Rosinante? Is he your big or little brother?"_

 _The boy looked back._

 _"Big," he said, and this brought a sudden almost-smile, "Mama use to say we match."_

 _"Ah, are you twins?"_

 _"Some people thought so."_

 _"But you're not?"_

 _A shake of the head. "Doffy wears sunglasses and his hair is shorter and he's got really pretty eyes. He also keeps saying he's taller than me, but it's only like by this much." A pinch of the fingers about the length of a rice grain. Sengoku smiled. "I see."_

 _And neither of them knew it then, but that list was due to expand, muted confessions over the years rattling down and down. Bedraggled wisps of feeling tugged loose in the silence._

 _Doffy cut off Father's head and got shot in one eye. He protected me and horrified me and left me behind. There's a hole in him three planets couldn't fill._

 _But he was my world. He was my life._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(This was what they would hear, with a silencing snap of fingers, a tremulous hand delivering a snail. A thousand leagues apart from each other.

Two different voices at one time delivering the same piece of news.

"Diez Barrels is ready for his deal.")


	22. secretum nostrum

**secretum nostrum - "our secret"**

* * *

 _Something you didn't know._

* * *

xxx

* * *

In the month after they picked up Machvise, Doffy pulled him aside for a trip. "Need to check on another base," he said, using string to steer the tugboat, unraveling coarse knots of rope with a few bends of a finger.

The moon had been an ivory wound in the flesh of the night. Curved like a nail against skin. "Come on, Rosi," he said, and stretched out a hand to help him on board. Rosinante stared at him from the dock. He took the hand, all calloused palm and cruel lines.

"What about the ship?" he asked, folding down beside Doffy as the sails unfurled.

"It'll stay here for the next few weeks."

"The executives too?"

Doffy chuckled. "Why? Are you dying for their company?"

Rosinante wrinkled his nose. He didn't manage to deliver his opinion on that matter however, before Doffy leaned back, their shoulders almost bumping.

"Just us this time."

The boat turned, the waves folding and cradling the sides. They drifted from shore and towards the eye of the moon. Doffy looked at him and almost smiled.

"You and me, right, little brother?"

Rosinante shifted his arm and closed the space in between.

"You and me," he agreed softly.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He took Rosi through a shortcut—one narrow, shale-stone channel leading from the Grand Line into North Blue—where the water was so rippling clear they saw the wreckage of old ships resting along the bottom.

"They fought the current," Doflamingo explained, hearing the question in Rosi's eyes, "It's quiet here, but unrelenting, and these fools tried to take control and chart their own course. Goes without saying they'd pay the price." His brother leaned over the boat's side, gazing into the water.

"…they were fools, Doffy?"

He shrugged. "Only fools try to fight something so pointless."

And then Rosi turned to him and Doflamingo gazed into the full profile of his face, so palpably sad he could feel it tremble in the air around them. His eyes widened.

"What's wrong?"

His brother sighed.

"I don't know. Sometimes, I just wonder if maybe…if we're also…" he trailed off and though Doflamingo waited, he never picked up the thought again. Rosi's shoulders fell. He shook his head.

"It's nothing."

Doflamingo gave a slow nod, even though it didn't seem like nothing and that look on Rosi's face remained. He'd no taste for it. Never had. Never would. Even if he was no expert on making it go away either.

But he tried.

He tried. He tried. He tried.

"Here." Doflamingo reached into his pocket, pulling out the small silken pouch. "I got these for you."

Rosi blinked as the sash was untied, spilling dried plums into his palm, each golden-brown like a piece of amber. He stared at Doflamingo, who stared back with a hint of unease.

"You…do still like them, right?"

And he didn't understand why that question, of all things, made Rosi smile again. Made his shoulders loosen, as if eased of some invisible weight. His brother lifted the pouch, eyes soft as a handful of dust.

"Split 'em with me."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rubeck Island was seventy percent highlands and thirty percent ruins. In that spring, it smelled peculiarly of earth and mud, even along the beach, woven tight with the clean breath of the sea.

Strings dragged the boat onto the sand, leaving long grooves. "This way," Doffy said and passed him by, the frigid tides drenching the lean columns of their legs.

He led them down a path of brown twisted weeds, under a crack-riddled archway of pillars that resembled the fossilized ribs of a whale. Croft houses were keeled over on their left and right, as if victims of grievous poisoning. The entire area was devoid of plant life. Everything in the ground withered or reduced to husks.

"Try not to fall," he said, "Lots of sharp bits poking out everywhere."

"What happened here?" Rosinante said, gaze low. Rampant shadows loomed around them. "Doffy, everything's dead."

His brother stopped quite abruptly. "Are you afraid, Rosi?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Because I'd never let anything happen to you."

"I'm not—"

"I promised, didn't I?" His brother was frowning. He was suddenly upset. "I promised. Have I ever broken my promises before?"

Rosinante's face softened. "No."

"Then you ought to believe me."

"I do believe you," Rosinante said, hand hesitating before it lifted. He touched his brother's shoulder. "Are we even still talking about the same thing?"

For a second, Doffy stared back at him, as if he wasn't entirely sure either.

But then he shook his head and stepped out of Rosinante's grip. "Never mind," he said, "Hurry up, we're going."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Stay here Rosi_

Doflamingo heard his own voice whisper, echoing all around in that desolate place.

 _in the dark with me_

 _Rosi, don't be afraid._

He locked it up. Hid it away. Stifled it, smothered it. None of these words were right. They weren't what he meant.

They weren't right.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _You_

* * *

xxx

* * *

There was an abandoned tower on the island, a giant eroded affair built straight into the rock-face. The Family had taken it over in a previous year, remodeled it as a bunker and storage.

Scraps of their presence lay in the hollowed rooms. A hanger of Lao G's belt buckles. Rusted swords and discarded guns. A box of spooled threads on a bench Jora must've left behind.

Rosinante bent to peer at the odd, saccharine colors, while his brother sighed.

"I told them not to leave their shit everywhere."

With a shake of his head, Doffy strolled away, towards a giant black chest in the corner about the length of two tables.

There was a stone window about ten feet apart from it, pooling in a square of the moon. Its columned light grazed against a giant row of chairs hugging the adjacent wall. Four in total. The crests carved into the suites of a deck. Diamonds. Spades. Clubs.

Rosinante stared at the final one. The cushion blood-red, the back curved into a spindle-thin heart.

"Tacky, I know," his brother said from behind him, sounding exasperated, "Trebol insisted."

"I'm not sitting in that, Doffy. Stop laughing, I'm serious."

"Oh, but he put so much effort into it."

"He can go to hell." Rosinante's eyes narrowed. "They all can."

His brother snorted. "How cold," he said, without much admonishment, and straightened, pulling something at last from the chest.

"But you can rest easy. They _have_ been collecting dust here for a reason."

The coat unfurled in Doffy's broad hands. Obsidian feathers floated between them. Rosinante had barely time to blink, before his brother was in front of him, tossing the coat over his shoulders. It was warmer than it looked, heavier too. An off-color twin.

Rosinante looked at his brother. "Wha…?"

"Jora was feeling inspired," Doffy said, adjusting the sleeves, "I think the weight might be able to help with your balance."

"I balance just fine."

A scoff. "Right."

"I do!"

"Hm."

Rosinante scowled indignantly as his brother fussed with the coat, twitching when Doffy finally surveyed him—red smeary lipstick, a blue painted star, patterns of hearts on shirt and hood—and burst out laughing.

"You look like a clown." Doffy released him. "Or a mess."

"Maybe Jora wanted us to match."

His brother swatted at his head. "Don't even joke, Rosi." He posed, theatrical, enormous, pink feathers rustling. "We already know I make this work far better."

Rosinante rolled his eyes. But his lips did curve, ever faintly.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosi's balance didn't improve of course. He still fell on his ass more than twenty times per day.

But he kept the coat. Wore it all the time. He liked it.

Strange, that Doflamingo would feel more accomplished then than conquering any sea.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The sun-lit days were hypnotic.

Doffy was waiting for the full moon. He wouldn't explain why, no matter how Rosinante pried.

But as a result, they spent much of that time just lazing around. Reading the papers or blowing smoke rings, casting out idle comments to each other like yellowed messages in fragile bottles.

There was a hideous joke about bananawanis at some point, which Doffy laughed at and then clearly hated himself for, and Rosinante tried to wrest a pledge out of him to drink a little less, failing when Doffy expected an equal one about his smokes.

They played dramatic games of chess on an old checkered tarp and Doffy built for him a ten-storey house of cards.

In certain ways, his brother hadn't changed. Easy and familiar to speak to. Or listen to, since he still prattled on enough for two when he got going.

He had the same habits, the same good and bad moments. He still found Rosinante's clumsiness part-tedious, part-hilarious. He still told the best stories.

Rosinante had really…really fucking missed him. Every stupid little thing. He did not see the monster which leered from the front pages then. All he saw was his brother.

 _It's not good for you,_ Sengoku had said, just before he'd left. _Son, you need to let go._

"How?"

Doffy tilted his head, their backs against each other. Feathers and gold pressed tight. "Rosi?"

Rosinante stared at the water-mottled ceiling, inhaling hard on his cigarette. Felt every inch of his ten-mile ache.

* * *

xxx

* * *

There was a moment where they measured each other's shoe sizes, the width of their palms. Doflamingo didn't remember how they really got into it. ("No way." "Face the truth, Doffy." "There's no way we're the same size. Look at you. I'm like three heads taller—" "No you're not, jackass!")

But it escalated and then Rosi had flattened his spiked hair to make some banal point about conditioning, as if he knew shit-all about it, and Doflamingo had retaliated by knocking off his hat.

They about froze after that, startled by what they saw.

Rosi had foregone the face-paint that day and Doflamingo had never quite understood what anyone had ever said about them regarding their looks until that moment.

The only glaring differences being his glasses and their eyes. The varied places of their scars.

Like they were a box set of toys. One match, but not the same. Doflamingo tilted his head.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Who use to say that?" His brother's cocky expression had melted off, left his gold-framed face in a more peculiar light.

"Say what?"

"That we matched. Didn't someone use to say that?"

A beat skipped in Rosinante's chest. His mouth became a white line.

"…Our mother."

His brother was still. The minute which passed was nigh unbearable.

"Oh."

Rosinante stared at the wall behind his head, arms resting limply in his lap.

"You don't remember her."

It was small and tired. A hint accusatory beyond the control of his intention. Doffy wasn't angry though. Rosinante could feel his gaze even obscured by the glasses. Hard and strange.

"Yes, I do, Rosi," he said, "Trust me."

* * *

xxx

* * *

He hadn't lied.

It was true that at some point, she had fallen through the cracks of his mind. Her features faded and stripped from his memory, replaced by shadows of something wistful and quiet. He could not have told Rosi even the color of her eyes.

Doflamingo had no good understanding of why it happened. He had never meant it to.

But he hadn't lied.

He remembered what mattered. And he remembered enough.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _and_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doffy seemed incapable of sleeping naturally. He caught catnaps in a chair, a book fanned over his eyes. Either that or he'd get black-out drunk on the tower's cache.

Rosinante released a terse breath, rolling the empty bottles away with his shoe. "C'mon," he said, leaning towards the chair, hovering above his squinting and disoriented sibling. "Get up."

Doffy made some half-hearted attempt to stand. Failed miserably. Rosinante rubbed his temple, closed his eyes and re-opened them.

It was with considerable struggle that he managed to lift Doffy, dragging him into the bunk-room and depositing him on one of the beds.

Sometimes, his brother was heavier than anything that could exist in the world. More than anchors or bricks or stones. Or all of Mariejois crumbling out of the sky.

He slid a sick bucket over and took off Doffy's glasses. The scarred lines appeared nearly fresh sometimes. Rosinante was tracing them with his eyes, before he managed to catch himself.

* * *

xxx

* * *

A nightmare came.

He stood in a gray-washed wasteland, barren of everything save tinder and animal bones. The sky was piercingly bare.

 _He left me._ A boy's voice hissed, cracking across that fallow plain. _I asked him to wait. Only to wait. And he didn't even think I was_ _ **worth**_

The world splintered. Everything quivering. A chasm split across the middle of the land, fresh as a wound. The kindling fell in. The bones. Parts and pieces of the bare-blue sky.

"I don't care," Doflamingo said, standing amongst the destruction.

 _Heh, but you do._

"He's here now."

 _But where'd he go?_

"It doesn't matter."

 _It does it does._ The voice whispered. _Why are you lying even to yourself?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosinante woke at dawn to an empty room.

It took him several minutes of searching to find his brother again, sitting at a window ledge, long legs bent and propped against the frame.

"Doffy?"

His brother didn't turn around. Didn't say anything.

Rosinante stood there a moment, before walking over. He caught only a glimpse of Doffy's face before his brother turned around further. It was gray though, a bead of sweat running from temple to chin.

His eyes widened, arm reaching out. He tried to touch his brother's shoulder, when Doffy suddenly spoke.

"Go away."

It was sharp and harsh, a splinter which startled Rosinante into silence. Doffy too, for several beats, like he was confused about where that had come from. Then the light shifted across his face and he added more softly, "I'm fine, Rosi. Just go away for a while."

Rosinante stared. He bit his lip slightly, expression falling. Then he turned and walked out.

Five minutes passed before he came back, black coat on his shoulders, the pink one in hand. He tossed it onto Doffy's lap.

"'s freezing in the mornings," Rosinante said and plopped on the ground beneath his brother's perch, cigarette lit. The smoke wafted and rose over their heads towards the ceiling. Rosinante didn't look at his brother at all. He posed no questions and said absolutely nothing. They sat there for a stint that could've stretched into hours.

The hand came over eventually. Palm touching his head, fingers resting light against his bangs.

"Stubborn little fool," Doffy said, all sharpness gone. Rosinante remained quiet.

 _What else can I be?_ was the thought though, rising somewhere from the rolling depths of his soul. Simple and honest.

And helpless beyond meaning.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo didn't ask.

He would not inquire then upon where his brother had been for the last fourteen years and he never ever would.

Even if the pieces lay everywhere in between. The strength and discipline. The insane breadth of his stamina, moreso than any member of the Family. The scars. The secret in his eyes.

All of this, Doflamingo threw into the depths of his mind and locked away, left them wriggling and swimming in the dark.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _me_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doffy mapped out the constellations for him. Scar-riddled fingertips webbed across the sky, connecting scintillated dots.

Polaris, the brightest one. And Ursa Minor alone. Pretty things on rare nights like blue-white Rigel of the Orion.

"The people here swore all our paths were already fixed in the sky," he said as they sat on the upturned boulders of the ruins. A liquor bottle sloshed in his hand, which Rosinante glared at. He'd made several failed attempts already to take it away.

"You never told me about them."

"Them?"

"Whoever lived here before," Rosinante said and cast his glance over the shattered sun-dials and spider-nested monoliths. The sticky, poison-dark veins in the earth. "What happened?"

Doffy propped his chin with a hand. "It's not the type of story you'd enjoy. No happy ending, you know."

"I can't just live my whole life needing every story to be a happy ending."

Doffy chuckled without humor. "True enough."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rubeck, he explained, once had its own tribe. An indigenous group that worshiped the sea kings and could hear the whispers of the stars. They divined their own fate even, before the Celestial Dragons had taken fancy to a new type of slave. Went into chains quietly and perished of disease.

"The Dragons bled the underground springs dry too and chopped down every rare tree." Doflamingo waved at the cracks. "You can see what it did to this place."

Rosi looked, his face pale and eyes wide.

"They gave it up? Just like that?"

"It was going to happen. I suppose they thought a struggle would've been futile. Not worth it maybe to try and save."

"Not worth it?" His brother's hands curled. Doflamingo blinked at the anger in his voice. The wind ruffled his coat, sent ripples of glinting red light across his shades.

"Rosi?"

"This was their life."

Doflamingo was quiet a moment. "I told you it wasn't a happy ending." He meant to sound reproachful, but doubted he'd succeeded. Rosi's knuckles were white.

"Why didn't they fight back? Even if…even if every voice in the world said it was futile, I…"

He looked at Doflamingo, brows half-crumpled. At the shape of his face, the tint of his hair.

"I don't understand," he said, "how it wasn't worth saving."

Doflamingo stared too, unable to think of any response. Something had flown so far over his head then that he could not have made it out, no matter how he scrutinized. He knew enough to know that.

 _Fix it._ The age-old instinct whispered to him. _Fix it anyway._

* * *

xxx

* * *

It was a day later, when Rosinante was chain-smoking and trying to banish Rubeck's tale from his memory, that his brother sauntered in, hands dirtied with soil and smelling like wet leaves.

Rosinante leaned against the tower wall, watching him run his hands beneath a spout. It took all of five seconds to wash them clean. Not like blood, Doffy murmured, which took scrubbing and scrubbing, and drained away in a soppy crimson puddle.

"Where'd you go?" Rosinante said, for the sake of hearing no more of that. His brother made a noncommittal noise and shook his hands dry.

"I didn't end up telling you the whole story about Rubeck last night."

A blink. "What?"

"There's more." Doffy rose, both their shadows stretching to twice their lengths against the evening sun. "See, what happened with the tribe, that was centuries ago. The spring's going to replenish in time, probably fully in four more years. Then everything is going to grow back and it won't look like this anymore."

His brother turned to him and Rosinante thought he caught the glimpse of his eye, blue and deep.

"So it's actually…a happy ending, Rosi. Ultimately." An almost-smile. "Right?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosi did not speak for a very long time. His chest still and his eyes, as Doflamingo studied them more closely, an alarming and rapidly watery red. Like he was on the edge of crying and Doflamingo was instantly confused.

Had he made a mistake? Misread what his brother wanted perhaps. The thought was not without disappointment.

And then Rosi laughed.

A real one that rang clear between them and echoed against the steep, rocky hills. Doflamingo practically startled. The last time he'd heard Rosi laugh, they'd been…eight and six respectively. Sixteen years.

His brother clapped his shoulder, smile rippling and weak. "Yes, Doffy," he said, grip so hard it almost shook, "You're right."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _will never_

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the quarter moon, Rosinante saw a lump of an island taking shape in the distance.

"Ah, that one," his brother said, walking with him down to the beach. At the water's edge, Rosinante could make out the island a lot better, saw the end of its craggy tail and the tip of its jagged beak.

"A bird," he murmured and Doffy nodded.

"Swallow Island." He pointed at the sky. "There's actually three islands in close proximity in this area. If you face the moon while on the water and keep it in your center, then Swallow will always be to the west. Rubeck to the east."

Rosinante leaned his head back. A whole spray of stars swam towards him in the dark.

"What about the third one?"

"In the south." Doffy gestured but it was only a sea-swept blackness that Rosinante saw, swirling and alive, in spite of the moonlight. "Not my favorite place. It's winter all year long there. Always snowing."

"What's the name?"

"Minion."

It was inexplicable and sudden, the wayward shiver which snaked down Rosinante's spine. He turned to his brother, who looked startled as well. Like the same shudder had rattled through them both.

"I'm so tired of the cold," Rosinante whispered eventually, and though the words made little sense alone, his brother hummed as if they did.

"I know."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Minion's outline was just visible on the horizon. Crouched low. As if some creature prowling the lip of its cave. Doflamingo frowned.

"I'm tired of it too."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _be_

* * *

xxx

* * *

When the full moon arrived at last, Doffy took him to an open bluff that was earth-cracked and arid, where the moon greeted them readily and all the harsh winds had settled.

"What are we doing here?" Rosinante asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground, facing his brother. They were both muted of color beneath the rangy lunar beams, bathed in pale blue light, turning by degrees as the clouds inched forth into silhouettes of black and indigo.

"I needed the moon to see it properly," Doffy said, "I didn't want to risk trying during the day."

"Trying what?"

His brother gave him a pointed look.

"Your Devil Fruit, Rosi."

Silence.

Rosinante regarded his brother for an expressionless beat.

"You thought it was pretty useless the first time I showed you," he said, crossing his arms.

"Hm, I did just a bit. Makes sense that it'd be the one lying around for anyone to eat. Not my point though, don't give me that look." Doffy flicked his forehead to get him to stop glaring.

"There's a general rule I follow with the Devil Fruits. Whatever power it gives you doesn't actually matter. Only your measure of creativity. Understand?"

Rosinante rubbed his forehead, disgruntled, but a pinch curious. He supposed he didn't use the fruit for much even beyond Doffy's knowledge. There'd only ever been one purpose for him choosing it after all. To be an asset during a fight wasn't it.

"I guess."

"Good." Chiseled teeth glinted at him. "Then show me."

So he did.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The sea-blue orb of the silent sphere leapt from Rosi's snapped fingers. Doflamingo observed the curious field of light, having questions right away. How large could the field be stretched? And could he adjust it once released? How many spheres could be made at a time?

Rosi didn't know or care to know the answers to most of these. Doflamingo found him tragic. He was glad he'd had his brother show him the Devil Fruit again, because the potential was most assuredly real. Sparks of ideas were already leaping at him from the grate.

He'd have to make sure Rosi would milk this power for all it was worth.

"Are we done yet?" his brother muttered, having summoned and extinguished the sphere over forty times, "Doffy, you're not even looking anymore."

Doflamingo glanced back over. "We're done," he said and before his brother could get too relieved, added, "For today anyway. Get use to summoning that thing, because we'll be seeing it a lot in the next few days."

A groan. Rosi stood, dusting his pants, and stormed up next to him. His side-glance was peeved and half-annoyed and something crumpled very hard and sudden in Doflamingo that he couldn't even pinpoint.

"Rosi," he said, as his brother flicked open his lighter, giving him a curious glance, "I really am—"

Fire sprouted up his brother's shoulder, swelling into an inferno in the second it took them both to blink.

"Oh," Rosi said, blankly, and Doflamingo was too busy thereafter clawing off his brother's coat and stomping out the flames.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _here_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doffy was relentless. By the end, Rosinante had learned more uses for the fruit than he ever thought existed. He had bruises over bruises from running from Doffy's strings and had come a hair's breadth from a broken nose over a hundred times.

There was cursing and laughing and Doffy was so _proud_ and Rosinante so annoyed and there wasn't a single part of him that wanted this to end ever ever ever.

Which only meant, of course, that it would.

And it did.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Doflamingo had lost track of time. He'd barely realized an entire month had gone by when Trebol contacted him, jabbering about how other pirate crews were starting to pay them tribute just to cross over their territory. His attention was needed, Trebol urged, and he had to return. Doflamingo knew he was right.

Yet for a long while afterwards, he could only stand in the sand, staring at the boat they'd arrived in. He did not know why, but he was reluctant to go. Even with such interesting prospects apparently waiting. He did not know why.

But the strings slithered out eventually, pushing the vessel into the cold, murky tides.

"C'mon, Rosi," he said over his shoulder, to where his brother stood even further back along the beach, head turned towards the tower.

Like a sad child being wrenched out of his home. Doflamingo gave a noiseless sigh. He'd have to make note to bring Rosi back again someday. Maybe in another few years, when all the plants and trees were back. It would make him happy, he was certain this time.

Doflamingo opened his mouth to say as much. Rosi spoke first.

"Doffy, come with me."

The world went still.

The waves, the sea, the pulses of their heartbeats.

Doflamingo turned fully.

"...What?"

Rosi's hands were in fists again. He looked at him. "We could leave all of this behind. Start over again together, like it was suppose to be. We could go."

"Go?"

The boat swayed, jostling and banging into a protruding rock. The sound echoed.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere," his brother said, "anywhere."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Sengoku would've boxed his ears, probably yelled until his face went puce and then had another conniption on top of that. He'd advised Rosinante against this mission since the beginning, warned that he was going to become compromised. A decades' worth of planning all over in a breaths-worth of sentiment.

But Rosinante could not even think then of the consequences. Of what may happen to him or otherwise. He regretted speaking the moment he had spoken, but it was not out of fear that he did.

For he'd seen the answer in Doffy's face long before he heard it, before his brother shied a step back, before he started laughing blankly.

"I can't go, Rosi," he said, "I have a crew. A family. How am I supposed to go?"

He kept laughing, shaking his head. Rosinante said nothing.

"What are you even talking about anyway, hm? We must've stayed here too long. The air is making you loopy."

A spidery hand ghosted to the boat and Rosinante knew that was it. This period of their lives was over, a book shut and bound tight.

Doffy's teeth gleamed. "It's a pity, but we've got places to be," he said, "Come along, little brother."

He obeyed silently. The small candle of hope in him had not died then. He'd been nursing it all his life and today was not the day it was destined to die.

So they parted from shore and left the past behind.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _again._


	23. plenilunium

**plenilunium - "full moon"**

* * *

(The skiff floundered in the icy sea. Blizzard flurries in one beat and torrential rains the next. The starboard half had three ragged talon marks ripped down its side. A sea king which had mistook it for prey.

Men whispered and swore. They eyed the needle of the log pose as it spun, again and again in panicked circles, like a cornered beast without escape.

The New World was not an ocean one could afford to be lost in.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

It would occur to Rosinante later that Sengoku had sent him the message about Barrels as headway to help avoid him. The old man still hadn't known of the whole situation then or the truth of what Rosinante was trying to do. He'd intended the message as a warning.

He had wanted him to run.

"Cora-san?" Law walked over. "Wha—" He yelped as Rosinante spun around and drew him up into his arms, laughing, the Den Den Mushi laying in the grass with all the cords tangled up.

"What the—Cora-san, you idiot, let go!"

He didn't let go. And the child didn't struggle for long. He blinked up at Rosinante, at his breathless, foolish grin beneath the white-washed sun.

"The Ope Ope's been found, Law." He squeezed gently, fiercely. "Kid, you're going to live."

It came as a whisper when he really wanted to shout, wanted to announce it across the valleys until even the most ancient earthen roots shook from the sound. The boy was going to live. He'd get to grow up and god, Rosinante already knew he was going to be something special.

Something extraordinary.

"Get ready," he said, setting Law back down, as he rushed over to the campsite and kicked dirt over the fire, "We're heading to the North Blue tonight." They would need to hurry. Take advantage of present circumstances however they could. The nexus of a plan was forming in his head.

Small footsteps pattered to a stop behind him. Law crouched down, sliding their supplies back into the giant knapsack Rosinante had swiped at one of a myriad of ports. His brow was furrowed, like he was trying to unsnarl a huge and terrible knot.

"I thought the Ope Ope was gone."

"It'd been taken," Rosinante said, gathering up the Den Den Mushi and tucking it into his coat, "You remember the man I've been looking for? Diez Barrels?"

Law's eyes widened. " _That's_ why you were—so he beat us there then? To the island?"

Rosinante nodded. "He must've been the one the map had been en route to in the first place. Word probably made it back to him somehow and he got there first."

"Even when he knew Doflamingo was after it too?"

Rosinante flinched. It was only for a second. "He's an arrogant old man. And the Ope Ope's one of the rarest devil fruits in the world. The map alone must've cost a fortune."

Bitterness too, Rosinante didn't doubt, was lurking in the swill of those reasons. Over the past few months, he'd come to realize why the Barrels name sounded so familiar to him. The man had been a marine, defecting years ago when Rosinante had been just a cadet.

He'd tried to grab turf in the North Blue and collided head-on, as had so many pirate crews in that sea, with the spike-riddled ceiling that was his brother.

The man probably thought Doffy had robbed him. Not only of the fruit, but everything.

He was wrong.

The North Blue was too quick and wild and mercurial for someone like Barrels to have ever conquered anyway.

And Rosinante was the one who was actually going to rob him.

"Come on," he said, stooping to hoist the heavy knapsack and swing it over one shoulder, "He'll be selling it to the marines in another two weeks. We need to reach the rendezvous point before them."

Law stood, padding over to the fireplace where Rosinante's hat sat half-crumpled on a rock. "Where is it?"

A pause.

"Rubeck," he said, quietly, still taken a bit aback by it in truth. What odds they'd be meeting there of all places and Rosinante's chest creaked just at the idea of return. It was going to be…so fucking unpleasant.

But that didn't matter. None of it mattered. He'd been seeing then only what he'd wanted to see. It hadn't been real.

And he was so close….

"Cora-san, you still haven't finished this." Law was hugging Rosinante's hat in one hand, holding a wrapped sweet potato in the other. For a moment, Rosinante didn't recognize it, before remembering it was the last meal he'd bought them with the remainder of their beri. Half of the potato was gone, offered to a curious stray dog, while the second half was still untouched.

Rosinante waved his hand. "You can have it, kiddo."

"I already ate mine."

"Well, you can eat mine too."

Maybe that'd been the wrong thing to say. Law's mouth pulled into a sudden and distraught frown.

"No, I want _you_ to eat it."

"'m not hungry."

"Too bad."

"Law," Rosinante said, half-stern, but the kid wasn't having it, shoving the potato up at him with lips stubbornly pursed. He didn't look like he'd stand for going anywhere until Rosinante took it and so he conceded with a sigh. There wasn't time for this.

"Fine," he said, picking the boy up too while he was at it, "Troublesome brat."

Law smirked, leaning against Rosinante's shoulder. His arms crossed in smarmy victory and it was so unbelievably cute, Rosinante crammed down three-fourths of the sweet potato to stop from squishing him senseless.

He had no true description actually for his relief then, as if he were taking that first long breath after a lifetime of drowning. He was scared and he was weak and he was _nothing, nothing, nothing._ Just as Vergo had said all those years ago. Born for one purpose only. Rosinante had never stopped thinking so, deep down.

But if he could save this child, this one final child above all else, then maybe this life of his had not been so pointless in the end.

Maybe it'd been worth something after all.

Rosinante stepped onto the trail snaking down from the hills and gathered the pieces of his heart one final time.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Barrels was a dead old man. This was already so in Doflamingo's mind, even before he'd fully cut the call. The geezer was walking and breathing on borrowed time alone.

And Doflamingo wasn't just going to kill him either, oh no.

He was going to _eviscerate_ him and make balloon animals out of his entrails.

It was an execution Barrels had bought for himself. Thinking he could steal from him, fancying what was _his._ The bastard had ruined goddamn _everything_ and Doflamingo whole-heartedly intended to hold him accountable.

Anyone else too, who'd thought to try and interfere with his affairs. Who'd made things turn into this giant, insufferable mess. The Government. _The Marines._

They were all about to get what was coming in a very not fun way. Every single one.

He'd had a plan brewing for some time. A very special one to keep them awake and shuddering at night. Doflamingo's lips turned at the thought, a glimmer of too many teeth.

Just how many years had he left Dressrosa dancing?

 _Far_ longer than its fill.

 _Doffy._ Rosi shook his head, vaporish hair brushing over his eyes, and the beginnings of Doflamingo's smile vanished. _Why do you still not understand?_

His brother was sitting at the edge of the desk, that one corner which his strings had sliced off entirely. His legs were tucked up, his arms hugging his knees. The way they use to sit together at the sill after Mother died, watching the world turn outside.

Doflamingo stared at him until a footstep clicked at his left, a sequin purple along the peripherals of his vision. Jora. She was still here. Edging closer. Anxious.

"…Young Master?"

He turned slightly, offering the snail back in distraction.

 _Why did I leave, Doffy?_ Rosi rested a dirt-smudged cheek on his scabbed knee. _Really, why did I leave?_

 _Because you were angry._ Doflamingo thought, the same blank and automatic path he kept turning onto. _And you wanted to hurt me._

 _Because you stopped being mine a long time ago and now you're—_

He stood.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The Young Master did not speak to Vergo for long. Maybe five or so minutes at the most. Jora didn't even feel miffed at the man anymore for hanging up so rudely with her before. Wherever Vergo was now, she just hoped he had listened to her and gone to ship more of that wine.

Because the Young Master was getting worse. Had started walking in strange winding patterns down the halls and avoiding certain corners, rooms, and perfectly empty chairs. She was almost certain now he'd been talking to thin air when she and Pink had tried to reason with him previously.

Pink said he'd seen it once before too, years ago, and that all of this was nothing new. Jora couldn't fathom how. She had some recollection of a few eccentricities back then, but never to such an extent.

To her, the Young Master had been then at least a thousand feet higher than the rest of them put together. Like some speck of glittering light in the stellar distance. More presence than person. Perhaps that's why she hadn't noticed.

But it was only a person who could look the way he did now. That strange, troubled expression on his face—a brief respite from all that raging frustration. Jora took a ginger step forward.

"…Young Master?"

He barely looked at her, extending the snail back in one spidery hand, which she hurriedly accepted. Then in the silence she fidgeted, unsure if she was dismissed or not, until the Young Master rose suddenly. The destroyed floor boards crunched beneath his weight. His vast shadow consumed her. Something clammy and pale wavered in his expression, before it was gone.

"Jora, we're returning to North Blue."

She blinked and then nodded without asking why, because the Family did not ask him why. Not ever. "Of course. I'll go tell the crew."

He didn't respond. She turned to leave and was right at the door, before his voice stopped her again in her tracks.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way."

The Young Master loomed in front of his desk, stiller than stone. Scattered light filtered through the porthole window, refracting off his earrings, glittering upon the ceiling and floor.

"I was doing my job."

"Young Master?"

"I had to teach him the truth."

She turned around, her expression falling. "Sir—"

"Why did he leave me, Jora? I wasn't wrong. It wasn't my fault." He stared down at her, brows knotted.

"…it wasn't, right?"

A long moment passed before she realized he was being serious. No trick questions. No tests of devotion. He was honest-to-god confused and he was asking for real. Jora gazed up with panicked, hesitant eyes. Those children aside, she could not have pretended to care about the fates of those island people. Softness to that degree was beyond the nature of the Donquixote Family.

But Corazón…his look on the beach, his eyes at the end.

For the first time, Jora wondered what he must have thought that day. Whether he had managed to take it as a lesson, or a kindness, or the simple course of things.

Jora bit her lip. It was not the Family's place to ever say their master was wrong. Trebol had always made sure they understood this well. Theirs was to agree and to follow, venerating anything and everything their captain chose to do. And they would keep their mouths shut if they were grateful, Trebol had said, if they were loyal.

Even though sometimes, when Pink was musing especially, Jora wondered if that was what loyalty was supposed to be. She wondered about a lot of things now, ever since Dellinger had been taken away.

Maybe that's why Jora told him what she did in the end too. Softly and nervously. What she believed.

"I don't know, Young Master. I-I don't know if any of us know and I think…I think you need to ask Corazón himself. About what happened. And why."

Her heart skipped several beats in a row soon as the words departed her tongue, a reflexive fear bore from a thousand of Trebol's hissed warnings against insolence.

But the Young Master didn't seem angry then, not even remotely. There wasn't much emotion at all upon his young ageless face, colder and stiller than the vacuum of space. That unfathomable emptiness which made him so hard to look at sometimes.

And so furious and beautiful.

And terrifying, terrifying, terrifying.

No drop of pity in him. Not the slightest whit of a heart.

Not _in_ him anyway.

A troubling, but vital distinction that none of them would really understand until the end.

The Young Master straightened, hand falling from the corner of his desk.

"I see," he muttered and drifted past.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

It took three days to reach the channel. Rosinante was amazed he still remembered the way, following only the haphazard path of the stars, guided by the scar-riddled hand of a ghost.

Law sat almost exclusively in his lap now, huddled close for warmth, dozing on and off against his own will. The boy developed fevers on most nights and a burning pain that radiated throughout his body, which made normal sleep impossible.

To distract him from his misery, Rosinante taught Law the constellations, tracing shapes out of the pinhole lights, the way he remembered it taught to him. Somehow, the boy mustered up the energy to be fascinated.

He spoke a lot more in general now. Maybe Law couldn't stand the gaping silence Baby and Buffalo had left behind any more than he could (And the kid never did ask about them again. Rosinante wasn't looking that particular horse in the mouth.)

It was nice though. Law was full of observations and ideas and could go on and on about something if it sparked his interest. Rosinante enjoyed listening to him. Enjoyed his bright-eyed cleverness, his ability at times to motor on enough for two.

"Have you been there before, Cora-san?" Law murmured on the third night, "Rubeck, I mean."

He was looking into the waters of the channel, at the barnacled sterns and concave hulls, the figurehead of a lion with its open maw towards the surface, still roaring out from the depths. Law coughed into his elbow, a shredded sound that made Rosinante's jaw screw tight.

The urge rose in him again to unfurl the sails, force the boat faster around the rocks and reefs. Only immense effort tamped it down once more. Here, he knew, the current reigned. That it was going to take lead and wouldn't suffer otherwise.

So he handed over the canteen instead, which Law took gratefully, and rubbed the child's back as he struggled to calm down.

"Only once."

"Really?" The boy glanced up at him, mouth still pressed against the canteen's nozzle.

"What was it like?"

Such an innocently posed question that Rosinante could not answer for a long time, unable to find the proper words. For years, he had stashed that month on Rubeck somewhere deep in his heart, enfolded like a note beneath plaited seams. It was a moment out of time, each liquid second crystallized. So desperately fragile that Rosinante shielded it from all blood and truth and reality.

Rubeck had been…smoke rings. And cards and dumb jokes about bananawanis. It had been a windowless sill and the coat sitting heavy on his shoulders. The moon, the beach, a bag of dried plums and a made-up happy ending.

It had been his brother, frozen there forever at twenty-four. At ten. At eight. His crooked grin, his bare and vivid eyes.

It had been a _lie lie lie._

What was it like.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("It was," Cora-san told him, "an island without trees. Mostly desert and decay. Bled completely dry by the Celestial Dragons. It had a tribe of people that had surrendered it up without struggle, and left it to its ruin. They had long-divined its fate in the stars and never believed they could win against destiny."

Cora-san sighed. "And maybe," he whispered, "that really is the only way things can be."

He drew a hand down his tired face, down his deep and bruise-ringed eyes that made Law's own widen and something hurt inside. He reached out without thinking, or even understanding what Cora-san was talking about, to touch his hand. Small fingers against long and calloused ones. The size difference as ridiculous as ever.

At least it made Cora-san smile again, if only a little.

The boat made another stilted turn and edged closer to the channel's opening.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(There was a radio crackling of static. Fragmented words over poorly connected lines. Through the area of a keyhole, she could hear them. Someone worried and half-yelling. The skiff leaned.

 _Where are you?_

 _You're late._ )

* * *

xxx

* * *

They were very deep in the Grand Line and would not reach North Blue for another week and a half. It took the helmsman three days to work up the nerve to report this.

Doflamingo thought about gutting him and then refrained. As it were currently, he didn't mind a few extra days. The deal wouldn't be going down until the first lick of winter anyway, which was almost two weeks away.

And it gave him more time now to finish compiling that list in his head. Every name and mug due soon to expire. Officials and officers and all the woeful members of Barrels' crew. (Guilt by association.)

Doflamingo had given it a lot of thought. He did not change his mind once it was made.

It was unfortunate, but Dressrosa would need to wait.

He had to get Rosi back first. Straighten out whatever the hell had happened. And then he figured afterwards they would be a little too busy.

"Wait, what?"

Diamante's voice was sudden and loud, long face yellowish pale and full of new lines.

Doflamingo's patience was so paper-thin these days that he probably would've lost it at him for the inattention. But he felt better now, knowing he'd have the Ope Ope soon. Much better.

So he folded his legs, ankle on knee, and explained, "I've been thinking on it for some time. About Corazón, that is. Going in circles, around and around, wondering why he'd think to do this to me. Why why why why why." He paused, the edges of his mouth falling, before he shoved it back into a grin.

"Until I realized he _wouldn't_ do this to me. He wouldn't put me through _all this hell_ of his own free will. Someone must've forced him into this. Someone to be dead very, very soon. A rival crew, you know. Must've been. So I've got to leave some space on this little list of ours. I'm sure he'll have _plenty_ of names he'll want to put down himself."

Diamante didn't respond. He half-collapsed actually against the lounge's sill and would have toppled onto his ass if Pica hadn't been standing there, eyes wide as trembling saucers.

Doflamingo stared at them. "…What's wrong?"

But it was Trebol who replied, slithering around his chair and out of the shadows like a slug. He was sweating as well, streaks down his wide forehead and temples, a damp mound of clay drooping upon the wood.

"Nothing, Doffy. Behehe, nothing's wrong. Just one question. How are you sure the Ope Ope's gonna bring Corazón back?"

Doflamingo's brow arched. "Amazing you have to ask. What month do you think it is, hm? Law's final days must be in the double-digits by now. The Ope Ope's the only chance he has left. Corazón knows that. Once we waste Barrels and take the fruit, we'll just send out word."

And then Rosi would come back. Speak to him again. Look at him. He'd come back and yes, perhaps Doflamingo was still the teensiest bit cross with him for snatching up his brats and leaving the world's shittiest note, but that wasn't the point here. It wasn't the point.

"Law," Trebol said, very slowly, like he'd forgotten all about the child, "Right." He grinned.

"Nene, Doffy, do you _really_ think Corazón's gonna be on board with what you're planning for that kiddie?" He oozed closer to the chair. "The right-hand man aside, what do you think he'll say about the Perennial Youth Surgery? He likes little Law so very much, he's gonna get in your way."

Doflamingo looked at him, expressionless.

A beat of silence went by.

Then his foot rose. "What are you blathering about?" And he nudged Trebol several hard paces away from him. "I don't want the Perennial Youth Surgery."

Trebol stood where he'd been moved, globs of mucus left behind in a moist trail. His grin had utterly evaporated. Gone slack with shock.

"…what?"

"You heard me, Trebol."

"B-But that meeting we had," Trebol gestured, gloppy sleeves swishing like wet bags of mulch, "That meeting, Doffy, where you were talking about the Ope Ope's abilities! A-And you never told Corazón—"

"What meeting?" Doflamingo frowned, regarding the older man. He had to shuffle through his memories a moment, before he managed to scrounge it up.

It'd been that late afternoon almost half a year ago, when Law had agreed to becoming the third successor of the Heart Seat. Probably the last time he had ever spoken to the boy. Doflamingo remembered walking Law back to his room afterwards, spending too long staring at Rosi's closed door again and then…

"You mean that night all three of you followed me down to the bar?" Doflamingo's laugh was more of a bark and it made Diamante jolt. "That was a meeting to you?"

Trebol was still gaping at him. His voice was miniscule. "…it wasn't?"

"No, you fool. You asked about what else Law could do with the fruit, right? I just gave you an answer." He'd have explained it to Rosi as well, if they hadn't been fighting at the time. In any case, Doflamingo had never thought the conversation had been especially important. Trebol could be so ridiculous sometimes.

He also didn't speak again, completely frozen, while Diamante looked like he needed to sit down.

So it was Pica, of all people, who asked, "Doffy, wasn't the boy going to make you immortal?"

Doflamingo blinked. With a measure of thoughtfulness, he leaned his chin against his hand, rolling the question over. As a subject, he wouldn't deny immortality often interested him—a state of being not even the celestial swine up high could obtain. And what finer way to punish this world, than to punish it _endlessly_ _?_

So the surgery had intrigued him, that was true, along with all the implications attached. Perhaps, if the holder didn't perish as penalty, he'd have done exactly as Pica said. Crossed that line out of this realm and set about destroying all of existence in perpetuity.

But the fact of the matter was that Law _would_ perish. Painfully. Horribly. And regardless of what Doflamingo thought of that, his personal reluctance, his own fondness for the child, there was only one thing at the heart of it all which dictated the issue about Law. Always had.

Rosi would never ever forgive him.

And therefore, he could not.

"It's not what I need," Doflamingo said to them, "And it isn't what I want."

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The Den Den Mushi would not stop.

Vergo stared at it with a faint scowl, having been forced to step into a sparse hall of Saobody headquarters to address it.

Sengoku's terrible habit of keeping his office door ajar had just been proving convenient too. The man was in the middle of a hushed conversation with Tsuru. Something about two vessels getting separated in the New World. One having radioed in and due to arrive in a couple more days. The other lost. ( _"Where are you?" "You're late."_ )

It was curious and Vergo had wanted to learn more. His annoyance only multiplied when he was greeted with Diamante's incoherent deluge of swearing and hysteria.

"You've _fucked_ us, Vergo." "We're all dead." "Why did you do it, you goddamn fool?"

So it went.

It took at least nine and a half minutes for Vergo to understand what Diamante was talking about. Then he was perturbed. What on earth was happening with Doffy?

"We do what he wants," said Pica, quietly, "And if what Doffy wants will be for us to die then—"

"Speak for yourself," Diamante spat, "I'm not getting fucking filleted just because _Vergo_ couldn't control his jealous little crush."

Someone was muttering to themselves in the background. Trebol, he assumed. _He doesn't want the surgery,_ Vergo heard, _He doesn't want…I thought…I told Corazón…oh god—_

The speaker was snatched suddenly on the other side. Trebol's voice oozed out into the empty, echoing passageway.

"Kill him."

The snail was sweating. "Wherever you are, whatever you're doing. Drop it now, Vergo, and find Corazón. Doffy's going after the Ope Ope no Mi. You'll have time. He needs to die, Vergo. The brats too. Burn all the bodies. Do you understand?"

"Trebol, that's—" Pica started, but Diamante cut in, "Fuck it, we've got no choice."

Vergo stared at the snail for a stint of silence. He blinked once slowly, brow lifting half an inch.

Then said, "Doffy wants him alive."

And continued into the ensuing stillness flatly. "I thought I made this clear to you years ago, Trebol. You're not my boss anymore."

"Are you crazy?" Diamante said, almost with awe, "Have you actually gone fucking _crazy?_ "

Vergo did wish he was not so loud. The mess hall was due to empty in another six minutes.

"I know you've been wanting to kill him for a while now," Trebol snapped, "And if you don't, then _Doffy's_ gonna kill all four of us later."

Vergo almost scoffed. "He wouldn't do that."

"Yes, he would, you _blind_ loon." The snail hissed, Diamante's slit eyes glinting. "Let me finally disabuse you of that idiotic notion. Doffy has _never_ forgotten Corazón. Not when he was seventeen or fifteen or fucking ten years old. Not when all of us thought Corazón was dead. Not even when Doffy said he was dead too, because it's pretty damn clear now that he hadn't actually believed it deep down. They…something extremely fucked up must have happened to them. Before we met 'em or even before all that business with their old man."

Behind his glasses, Vergo's eyes narrowed. His mind's eye flashed to the dark cabin room of Spider Miles. Doffy's scar-laced back facing him, his voice low and colorless. _It's my job._

A vein sprouted along his brow, though Vergo still said nothing. His role had only been to point Doffy towards the truth surrounding his brother. Judgment itself was not his call.

And with some reflection, Vergo supposed he also wanted Doffy to recognize who his true family was for himself. That Rosinante had been nothing but a traitor all along. Not worth the concern or the stress or even really another second thought. He wanted, once he got back on the trail and hunted Rosinante down, for Doffy to stop making exceptions. For him to finally realize that searching for and agonizing over and trying to please his weak, soft-hearted brother was _beneath_ him.

And once such realization came to pass, Vergo wanted to watch _Doffy_ plug Rosinante full of holes. A thing long overdue. So what if it made him a tad petty?

No, he'd not rob his king of that satisfaction.

Diamante was still speaking. "You can't break whatever chains—"

The mouth piece was yanked away again, the sound of someone being violently shoved aside. Trebol's voice returned.

"Nene, you're reeaaally letting jealousy get the better of you, Vergo," he said, and went on before Vergo could respond, "But fine, you don't want to kill Corazón. Reserved the right for Doffy already, is that it? Want to give him some proper closure? Want him to be free?"

"Of course," Vergo said simply.

"Behehe, noble. Well, you know we feel the same way. You know all I've ever wanted was for Doffy to reach his full potential and give this world the master it _deserves._ " The snail sneered, missing teeth bare. "And it does pain me to admit, but…at this rate he won't be making it there on his own."

"What are you talking about?" Vergo said, voice slightly edged, "He—"

"—is getting confused," Trebol said, "Wandering off trail. It's been five and a half months and he's still convincing himself that Corazón got forced into it or blackmailed by a rival crew. Doesn't quite queue up with your own hunches, does it?"

Silence. The vein pulsed again.

"So, we need to find out the truth for him. And not only that, we need to present him with proof. No more hinting or nudging. No more waiting for him to realize it on his own. For your king, Vergo."

The Den Den Mushi stared holes.

"Are you with us?"

The mess hall doors opened, young cadets flooding out.

They walked in chattering groups, lamenting over mop duty or extra drills, and strolled by the dead-end hall where Vergo had been standing.

And was already gone.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

("A rival crew," Lao G mused, nodding, "Yes, that would make sense. We've made a lot of enemies over the years, haven't we?"

"Ah, I'm glad," Machvise said, twiddling his fingers, "I like Corazón. And I miss the little kiddies. Baby girl always made the best cupcakes."

Gladius brandished a righteous fist. "What a pitiful man Corazón is. Coerced against his own blood. We'll set the record straight, Young Master. I bet it was those shitbags from Rakesh again. Oh, or maybe Barrels had a hand in this too…"

He went on conjecturing with Lao G, Machvise throwing in the occasional and immediately rejected comment. The underlying relief was palpable. They were glad the Young Master was in a calmer mindset now. That he seemed to be thinking clearly again.

The man himself was at the lounge's window, giant silhouette framed against the glow of the full moon. Pink regarded his bemused expression silently, before walking over.

"Haven't been back to Rubeck in half a decade now," he said, halting a few feet away, "Wonder if it's still a wreck."

The Young Master tilted his head. Something wordless was in his features at the mention of Rubeck. Made them a little softer than usual. "Hm, we'll have to see," he said, and added pointedly, "Maybe all of you can clean up the base for once too."

Pink decided not to hear that last part. He pulled out his cigarette pack, realized with some irony that it was the same brand he'd bummed off of Corazón more than once before, and lit up. He took a thoughtful drag and for several slow beats, they were quiet.

Then the Young Master said, "I think…I really need to talk to him this time."

Pink plucked the cigarette from his mouth.

"Wouldn't hurt, Captain," he said, blowing a languid ring of smoke, "Just my two cents.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

There had been multiple instances in Rosinante's life where he'd questioned the reality of his own eyes. Those first few missions out with the navy for example, or what became of his old man and Vice Admiral Garp after ten bottles of soju. Things like waking up in a real bed and meals every day and not needing to run for his life at a moment's notice. Things that given time, he could compute and accept as real.

This wasn't one of them.

Law tugged on his sleeve, utterly puzzled. "Are we in the right spot?"

Rosinante gave a dumb nod, though he did glance at the sky again anyway. At the white circular moon and the rocky formations of a bird, settled in the distance. Swallow Island right where he remembered it to be.

 _If you face the moon while on the water, then Swallow will always be to the west. And Rubeck to…_

There was no mistake.

"Cora-san," Law sighed, "I thought you said this place was desert and ruin."

The boy muttered something else about over-dramatics, that he wouldn't be happy at all if everything earlier had been some annoying joke. Rosinante barely heard him.

An ocean breeze streamed past the boat and rustled across shore, rising like a breath over the island.

Over the shadowed tops of young trees, which chirred and swayed, with their slender branches touching. Their leaves winking in the jade-sheened dark.

The rest of the island came into focus for Rosinante only gradually and later, when they had stepped onto the shapeless, heat-soaked sand.

Increments of wildflowers and whispering runnels. Small darting forms that sang and flew towards the moon on white-gray wings.

Inconceivably and impossibly.

Rubeck Island.


	24. ex corde

_**ex corde - "from the heart"**_

* * *

(He dreamed about Rubeck once. A day prior to their arrival while leaned against the stern, an armful of sleeping boy drooling on his shirt.

Desiccated and withered, with the bunker looming behind. Rusted pipes shrieked as they quivered and rattled. Doffy hummed, holding his hands beneath the faucet as the deluge was forced out. He was a child again. Water slapped against stone.

"Isn't it such a funny thing, Rosi?" he said, "Who knew you'd find your way back to Rubeck."

Rosinante was quiet. His brother scrubbed his nails.

"We had a good time here. It never was like that again. Hurts my feelings you don't want to remember."

"As if anything could hurt you."

Doffy smiled, the lips a small, knife-sharp curl. "My, you _are_ disappointed in me," he said, "Even though it really was your own fault." He glanced over his shoulder, just as Rosinante flinched hard, as if struck.

"Had you been stronger and smarter. Braver. Had you stayed and waited for me, like I asked you to. Then maybe they'd never have convinced me to go with them. Maybe I wouldn't be _this_ now."

"You were this from the very beginning."

"And that's your fault too." Doffy turned back around. "You had a job, Rosi."

Rosinante's eyes widened. His mouth pursed into a white line.

"Stop making it about us."

A scoff. "Oh, little brother, how can you be this naive?" Red dripped on the ground.

"It's _always_ been about us.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

The search was proving unsatisfactory.

Vergo bridged his hands, elbows on armrests as he re-assessed the situation. He had swept through the headquarters from top to bottom—the databases, the archives, every snippet and crumb of information his clearance availed him. In a practical sense, he had looked at everything.

Records, intel, commentaries, notes, call logs, file after file after file. The minimum enlisting age was fourteen, so Vergo had begun there as a starting point. Then he'd eventually scaled it back another six years, since Rosinante had disappeared when Doffy was ten. Still nothing.

It didn't make sense. Vergo was almost ninety-eight percent positive some trace or indication would exist here. The lack of success was aggravating.

Faintly, it did occur to him too that he might've been wrong. That perhaps Rosinante really wasn't a marine rat after all, set upon destroying the Family. Vergo let the thought drift for but a moment though, before tossing it aside.

There must have been a motive for Rosinante's return. Something underhanded. Something mutinous and sly. He'd abandoned his brother of his own volition. Why else would he bother coming back? No reason Vergo could see, besides the one.

Rosinante Donquixote was a marine. He was trying to take Doffy down. Ruin him, end him and lock him up to rot in Impel Down.

In the past four years, Trebol had provided plenty of descriptions of Rosinante in combat—the prowess and skill underlying all his would-be buffoonery. Maybe the obscene strength Vergo could've attested to bloodline, but that noted discipline and the perfectly measured way he went about disposing of things—that spoke to Vergo of far more militant training. The same kind he observed here at headquarters almost daily.

And the fact that Doffy had never let this give him pause, that he wouldn't just turn around and _look_ was astonishing. So completely unlike him. He'd even said that it didn't matter why Rosinante returned or where he'd gone in the first place.

How could that possibly not matter?

Vergo's brow ticked. He stood sharply and the chair careened away from him, banging against his desk like a gunshot. It ricocheted off the office walls as Vergo pulled on his gloves again.

There was evidence here. Somewhere. He couldn't be convinced otherwise.

Maybe what was needed actually, was a different approach to the problem.

Maybe instead of focusing so intently and solely on Rosinante, he should be aiming at a different target altogether.

Vergo gave it some cool thought as he curled fingers around the door handle. It was an idea with merit.

He'd always been a bit curious anyway, of what Doffy's file looked like these days.

* * *

xxx

* * *

A lie.

That was what Rosinante had thought at the time. Well-intentioned maybe, but a lie nonetheless. He had his own eyes after all. And Rubeck had been dead. Crumbled earth, choked weeds, mummified croft houses and naked, shriveled black stumps.

How was this real? The question echoed in Rosinante's skull as they departed the beach, walking further inland. He took in and barely processed the dewy grass, the mossy stones. The whole of the island akin to a forest unfurling out of the ground, struggling up like a rose through concrete. The air was sweet and clean. It brimmed with life.

How was this real?

"They're huge," Law said, walking beside him, craned back to look at the archway and pillars over their heads. They were a pearly gray now, smelling of rainwater and embossed with silvery-green vines. There'd been carvings upon them too apparently, now that they were visible—sea kings chiseled into the forms of elemental gods. No longer the ruddy textures Rosinante remembered, all rouge-stained with mud and dust.

"I can't believe you said this place was dead, Cora-san," Law murmured, examining the etchings with a cocked head. From behind the pillar, a butterfly slipped free, sweeping out into the open on blue wings.

It flitted past Rosinante's ear, quieter than a puff of breath. He followed it with his eyes.

"It was."

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know."

There was no underground spring set to replenish after all, nothing due to grow back in time.

Rosinante had thought then that he was only trying to make him feel better, spinning out some happy ending as had been his habit when they were boys. It was touching somehow, that Doffy hadn't changed in that respect, even with all their years apart. The slightly relieved way he smiled, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

It was unfathomable sometimes how an expression like that could've been empty.

But it must've been right? It must've been. Doffy had lied.

He'd lied.

… _right?_

Law coughed again. The harsh noise struck out like a hammer, shattering the mirror-maze of Rosinante's thoughts and he spun around.

The boy was leaning against the pillar, trying to steady himself. Rosinante hurried to him in two alarmed strides. What was he doing, thinking about his brother now of all times?

"C'mon," he said, bending slightly, "the base is just further ahead."

He moved to pick the child up, but Law recoiled, shaking his head. "No, I want to walk."

"You've been walking for almost an hour. You should take a break."

" _No."_ Law shook his head again, mouth pursed as his gaze fixed upon the shadowy tunnel of trees overhanging the path. "I want to walk."

He straightened, steadying himself with pronounced resolution. Rosinante sighed. Maybe it was more apparent with all the time they'd spent together, but Law had definitely developed an incorrigible, stubborn streak over the years. Another trait he must've picked up from Doffy, if that wasn't just great…

And now he was thinking about him again. Rosinante dug his nails into his palms.

Later, he decided. He'd deal with all this ruminating later. After he got the child settled and managed a decent survey of the rendezvous spot.

And whatever "dealing with it" was supposed to entail, Rosinante would think about that later too. He had this all arranged rather determinedly.

"Alright," he said, "take it easy."

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Rather awful of you to drag the brats into this nonsense. Baby must have cried for ages, my poor little girl. We won't ever see them again, will we, Rosi? And now Law's worried about _you_ when he's the one dying—"

"You were going to have him die anyway." Rosinante's hands clenched. "And they were just your tools. All of them."

"Hm, the boy volunteered. And I didn't hear any complaints."

"They're kids, Doffy. You saved them. They wanted to please you." His brow furrowed. "And if you could've given them what they needed, I'd never have taken them at all."

Movement behind the glasses, a narrowing of eyes. "There you go again, talking about what I didn't give," he said, "They ate every day. They weren't beaten for existing. They didn't have to be afraid. They were happier in those two years than you and I _ever_ were. What else exactly did they need?"

"You," Rosinante said simply, "not to be this."

Doffy sighed. "…Don't be unfair."

The faucet turned off, the last droplets of water falling. The stone block and drain beneath were soaked—stained a congealed red. His brother stood, turning around. Half of his palms were still caked in blood.

"'s not possible, Rosi," he said, "to wash off who you are.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

For nearly the entire trek, Cora-san looked a million miles away, staring at trees and rocks and idle butterflies as if they were manifested illusions. As if he'd been transported to some other world and couldn't recognize them. He tripped twice and nearly crushed Law the second time, but still barely watched where he was going.

Eventually, Law caught a corner of the black feathered coat, dragging it down in his hand. "Cora-san, what's wrong with you?"

No response. Law tugged harder. "Cora-san!"

"Hm?" The man shifted, pulling his gaze from a worn trail he'd been staring at for some time, faint and flattened, barely visible. "Shit, kid, sorry. What's wrong? Are you getting tired?"

Law scowled and shook his head. He looked around them, not sure what the problem was, before back up again.

"…why are you being weird?" he asked, "So this place has changed for the better. Is that really so hard to believe?"

Cora-san's jaw tightened. Instead of answering, his gaze wandered off again, back towards that same jutting trail. Law waited for several seconds, before finally turning to peer down it himself.

Just through the trees, he could make out an open bluff, a bare and exposed stretch extending out into the night. The sloping hills beyond were the vivid green of a fairytale. And he could see to the east a foamy coastline, where there was the hard glint of the sky and the echoing eyes of the sea. He could see the moon, round and silver as a coin.

Beautiful, and in a way Law already knew not many things were. Cora-san stared out for a long time, something unreadable in his eyes.

"Let's go, Law," he said eventually. Softly.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Of course "later" hadn't panned out.

Rosinante burned holes into the path ahead of him, the bluff pulling further away in his wake.

* * *

xxx

* * *

There were herbal flowers clustered at the base of trees. Prudent, wild little things bowing and dancing with the breeze.

Law crouched to examine them. Valerian, he could identify from the spiraled leaves and blush-pink petals. Meadow-sweets too with their thin, purplish stalks. They leaned into Law's hand, cool and velvety, and the boy's forehead creased.

It was weird that all of this could've happened within four years on its own, especially when Rubeck had been the wasteland Cora-san had described. Almost impossible. Doflamingo had mapped it out for him once, the tens of millions of coincidences that had to happen for even a feather to fall from the sky, every event strung across in a perfect line, all segments in a chain.

 _And let me tell you something else, Law. There's no such thing as a true coincidence in the first place. Only terms which people use to hide behind, a simple way to explain all the horrible things that crop up in a vile, flawed little world. There was nothing coincidental of those tens of millions of occurrences which could lead to a feather falling or Flevance burning, or you to us one day sporting those eyes._

 _Everything comes from a choice. Yours, mine, theirs, Fate's._

He peered over his shoulder, at the vast shadow flooding the moonlit ground. Cora-san was smoking, staring at water striders skittering across a puddle.

Law thought for another moment.

"Do you think someone may have…planted all of this on purpose? Or got it started somehow at least?" He tilted his hand, let the flower heads slide off his palm. Cora-san didn't reply.

"It's strange, right? For it to have grown naturally this way in only four years. Wouldn't it make more sense, maybe even around when you were here last, if someone decided—"

He startled when Cora-san suddenly lifted him without warning, his words severed mid-sentence. He began to walk at a brisk pace, heavy footsteps snapping fallen twigs, new grass rustling the cuffs of his trousers. Law shifted, confused eyes peering up from beneath the fur hat.

"Cora-san?"

The wall of a chest beneath him was pounding like a drum. Reverberating clashes as if thunder striking ground. Cora-san's voice was distant and low.

"We should keep going."

* * *

xxx

* * *

("You're just going to run from now on?" Doffy asked, bloody hands limp at his sides. "Is that it then, you and me?" Something unreadable flickered over his face. An unnoticed bruise was purpling on his cheek. "We'll vanish out of each other's lives forever. I don't even deserve a goodbye."

"I can't let you hurt the boy."

Doffy's brows pinched. He looked up at Rosinante, voice fainter now. "Don't you love me anymore?")

* * *

xxx

* * *

Although his color looked terrible, Law wasn't particularly tired when they arrived at the base. He wandered through the different rooms, scowled at the Family's mess and wrinkled his nose at the dusty thrones. Rosinante pried open the windows to air out the space, then had to lean against the wall a moment and rub fatigue out of his eyes.

"Are you hungry, Law?" he asked. The cache had been stocked pretty full last he recalled…

"No." Law had walked back to him. "You should sleep, Cora-san."

"I don't mind making you something first."

"I'm fine." Small hands pushed at his legs, nudging him into the bunkroom. "You only know how to make rice balls anyway."

Rosinante blinked. "Is there something else you want?"

A frustrated glare was shot at him.

"I want you to sleep," Law said, and slammed the door shut.

* * *

xxx

* * *

In contrast to the untold hours he'd spent searching for any trace of Rosinante in the marine records, Vergo located Doffy's file within minutes.

The official folder had been in a locked cabinet deep within the archives—one reserved for the most notorious pirates sailing the four Blues. Several sections explicated on different Family members, while Doffy's own report was as thick as an actual tome—copies of which were dog-eared and highlighted, as if they'd been studied in class or exchanged hands a thousand times. Vice Admiral Tsuru had authored the profile, delivering an intricate and dispassionate overview of Doffy's criminal exploits and psychological history.

 _Bottomless anger. Rampant sadism. A pronounced and clinical lack of empathy._ It was every flick of heat they had ever raked onto the coals of his potential, spun around as if they were denouncements. In the scattered pieces of Tsuru's commentary, she noted that Doffy was miserable and empty, that he searched for completion in fire and fury, that she wondered if he could truly love anything.

Vergo's eyes narrowed at the disrespect. What did this crone know about Doffy.

He shut the folder, before he could get too distracted. There was still no mention of Rosinante anywhere. Perhaps this had not been the correct place to search after all.

He was just about to slide the documents back into the cabinet, utterly frustrated, when something else caught his eye. A small note, barely the size of an index card, left there by the archivist.

Vergo's brow arched faintly as he slid it free. On the front was a short sequence of numbers labelled simply as _01746,_ with no additional description or words. It sounded familiar somehow, and though he spent a minute ruminating, Vergo could not pinpoint in what respect.

He flipped the card, mouth pursing into a cold line as he read the reverse side. It was a brief message, succinctly typed.

 _Addenda sent to the Fleet Admiral's office._

A vein pulsed in Vergo's temple. This was going to require more thought.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Of course I love you."

Doffy's lips parted, but Rosinante didn't let him speak.

"But you murdered an entire island over a pointless grudge. Made it all into some sick joke."

"Rosi—"

"And you're going to groom Law back into that cold, dead-eyed thing he was on arrival. Have him die for your own sake."

"I—"

"You killed our father," Rosinante whispered, and the sound echoed everywhere, everywhere, "He made a foolish decision, yes, and it was a horrible mistake. But all he wanted was for us to live with some meaning and decency and you…y-you shoot him dead and cut off his head and try to bargain your way back into Mariejois with it. That was our father, Doffy. How could you ever…how can you expect me to come back to you after that?"

His brother's smile was long gone, features twisting, a troubled light.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

For the next few nights, Cora-san left for long stretches of time again. Law would watch him go, the broad black-feathered silhouette liquefying into the woods.

"I'll be back soon," he'd finally said on the seventh night, a pointed nod at the cots, "Get some rest, you don't have to wait for me."

But Law waited, chin rested on folded arms, afghan wrapped around his shoulders.

Ancient smells lingered through the Donquixote base, branching out to different rooms like rivers from the sea—Jora's perfume, Senor's stale cigarettes, that unpleasant sweat stench Trebol had. Nothing really of Cora-san, as if he'd evaporated from this place entirely. And it was only one particular sill in the main room that carried any trace of Doflamingo—his scent of wine and lightning, an obscure sweetness that was fading away.

But it was him and so Law sat there on most of the nights alone, cheek pressed against the rough wooden surface.

It'd been a comforting smell then—for Law, who could not quite remember anymore Flevance with the summer light cascading down. Even though Doflamingo could be weird and hard to please and get unapproachable for hours sometimes.

There was a whole part of Law that missed him anyway—the crazy lessons and games, the books he brought back from ports, how he let them negotiate their way out of the occasional chore.

He was the biggest and tallest person Law had ever seen, ever known, and over three-quarters of his memories of Doflamingo were of that grin. Edged like a knife. Dancing-bright as fire. Unafraid of anything.

So it's honestly surreal, that Law's final look of him would be through a crack of light in the doorway, after a _good night, you little shit_ and a momentary hand on his head. It would be the distressed and fallen slope of his shoulders, the weary slice of his face, as he stared at Cora-san's door for what was probably the ten-thousandth time, before departing without a word.

That had been…kind of hard to watch. Painful actually.

He thought about it a lot sometimes, and often wondered if he should've tried articulating what he'd seen then to Cora-san. If it might've helped something somehow.

Law frowned, resting his chin against white-spotted knees. Shadows crawled down the glass, over the wood grain.

And that was when the birds flew by—a small flock taking a quick, playful twirl in the air before diving into the thickets.

Startled, Law leaned out to squint into the distance after them. They were chirping, the pattering flutter of their wings audible, while fractured strands of melody ghosted through the leaves. Faint curiosity tugged at Law's mind, an insistent pulse. He sat there for only another minute, before sliding from the window and stepping out of the bunker.

Then down the shimmering, carpeted trail, the boy followed the birds.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Rosi," his brother said, "You know I don't mean to hurt you."

Rosinante stared at him, at his own tired reflection in the pitch-dark shades.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

Something was wrong in the New World sea. In the darkened hallway, Vergo leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. A few feet away, he could hear Sengoku in his office, muttering to Tsuru over the line again.

For nearly seven days he had racked his brain for some method of entry into the geezer's office—all ideas either futile or posing too much risk. He was beginning to wonder if there would need to be some…egregious accident or other to draw Sengoku out of the room, when movement occurred out of the blue on its own.

The Vale ensign, it seemed, still hadn't been located. The kingdom was in such disarray that Tsuru would be trapped there for another week until replacements could be assigned.

They were trawling the reefs, an investigation pending. Foul play suspected. Vergo thought it all a bit comical. They would never find the man. He'd made certain there were no more mistakes that night.

Doffy would certainly get a laugh out of the whole circus once everything was through. He'd not been laughing much recently at all and Vergo found it quite unacceptable.

"That's fine," Sengoku said, "I'm departing for North Blue now. Nineteen-hundred hours. You head to Rubeck when you can. Shorter distance to cover on your end. We'll probably meet."

"…LaCroix's been informed about Skiff One. Should be arriving tomorrow morning. He'll handle it. Any word on Two?"

A pause as he listened. Then a frustrated sigh. "I see. Well, don't get too worried yet, old gal. They were almost out of New World from the last call-in. Anything happening now would have to be an ungodly coincidence." A chair groaned as Sengoku stood, his boots thudding against the floor. His tone softened then to an odd degree.

"…have you spoken with him again by the way? I sent a message to warn him out of there, but who knows if he's received it yet."

Vergo retracted further into the shadows as the office door slid open. Sengoku emerged in the hallway, holding the Den Den Mushi as close as possible, his voice a low murmur.

"He's not answering my calls, he's not thinking clearly, I just thought it was the truth, I never…it's too dangerous. I can't have him there. Has he spoken with you?"

Tsuru's response made his eyes harden. Vergo thought he saw his knuckles pale.

"Where the hell is my son?"

It did not sound like it was directed at Tsuru. Or even really anyone. Sengoku slid his office door shut and hurried down the hall.

Several minutes passed before Vergo stepped out into the open, waiting until Sengoku's footsteps had long disappeared. It was curious. He'd not been aware the man had had any children.

Vergo pondered a moment the idea of investigating, before deciding it wasn't worth it. Based on the way of that conversation, it didn't seem like Sengoku would be a father much longer anyway.

Turning to the door, Vergo tested the latch carefully. It slid open with invariable and disgraceful ease.

His lips turned. Half a smile.

 _Now we're in business, aren't we, Doffy?_

* * *

xxx

* * *

The rendezvous spot was on a bumpy, salt-drenched plain, just elevated enough to avoid the incoming tide. Over the course of the week, Rosinante had taken a long and careful scope of the location.

A little oddly, it was at a deliberate angle and led in a straight line from Rubeck to Minion, which he could still only barely make out in the dark. An escape route perhaps, should the deal with the marines go south. His brother often had several of them available during hits or raids, leading back to various hideouts for later regrouping. It wouldn't have been shocking if Barrels was using Minion for much the same purpose.

Not that Rosinante was planning confirmation either way. Once the fruit was brought to Rubeck, the only place it'd be going was down the kid's throat.

With a final drag of his dying cigarette, he crushed the stub in his fist, before jamming it into his pocket. Didn't seem right to just flick it into the sea here or grind it into the dirt.

Especially if Law was right and…someone had come across this place—was moved to help it for some reason or other…maybe after they'd already left…

Rosinante sighed, ran a hand down his face and sent the thought away. He was too exhausted for it right now.

Straightening, he brushed off his clothes and pondered a little aimlessly of what to do with Law tomorrow. He supposed he could fish out the dusty chess tarp or a pack of cards, something fun to keep up spirits since the kid's condition hadn't been too good lately.

Rosinante stood.

"Cora-san."

And fell right back down again. The sand dulled the impact though, made only his frame vibrate from the force. Rosinante shot to his feet again within seconds, incredulous gaze shifting and growing wide.

"What the…?"

He half-scrambled to the wobbling child, lifting him hastily and dragging a corner of his coat around the small, gaunt body. "What are you doing here, Law?" he said, already exasperated, "I told you I'd be back, didn't I? It's freezing out, how'd you even find me?"

Law coughed, sinking half his fever-flushed face into the feathers for warmth. His expression was strange and almost perturbed. A white hand reached for a fistful of Rosinante's shirt.

"Cora-san, I think I need to show you something."

He blinked.

"Show me something?"

"There." The boy turned and pointed. "Down the path, through the glade."

"Can't this wait—"

"No. C'mon, go."

"But—"

" _Hurry up,_ Cora-san."

Rosinante hurried.

* * *

xxx

* * *

It took some effort and struggle to push through the glade, moreso because Cora-san was taller than some of the trees and had to crouch to struggle past the branches. He was also fretting about Law's stupid fever, getting his coat snagged on thorns and tripping over every apparent root in the vicinity.

"At least tell me where I'm going, Law," Cora-san said, finally staggering clear, covered head to toe in leaves and twigs.

Law had to take a minute to respond, head fallen against Cora-san's shoulder, waiting out another intense bout of nausea. "Law?" Cora-san said again, more urgently, and a broad, cool hand rested over his forehead. Something sharp, like a muffled swear hissed between Cora-san's teeth. "You're burning the hell up, kid. We need to go back."

"I'm okay," Law said, raising his head as the world stabilized. "We're almost there."

Cora-san gaped at him, incredulous.

"And where is 'there'?"

Law ignored the question. "I think someone actually did help Rubeck grow back," he said instead, "Don't you, Cora-san?"

The arms around him stiffened. Cora-san's gaze slid over and their eyes met, gleaming brick-dust against amber. Then he looked away.

"It's a nice thought, I suppose…" he said, tiredly, and stepped through the last of the thickets.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("I know you don't mean to," Rosinante said, "But the truth is you do. And you did. And it's not enough whether you meant to or not." He turned, gazing into the arid field beyond.

"I do love you, okay? You're my brother, I'll always love you." He sucked in a breath. "But you have _never_ …you've never loved me. Never cared what I want. Never placed anyone above yourself. She was wrong and it took me twenty-six years to figure that out and I can't fucking live with it anymore."

Silence. Bottomless and ugly.

Doffy's expression was pale with distress, like he was searching for something to say. But there was nothing to say and so all that came out in the end was, "You need to stay, Rosi. We're supposed to be together."

Rosinante shook his head, jaw clenched. His eyes were hot. Rubeck was melding into one dry, shriveled blur.

"There's nothing to stay for," he whispered, "You're already gone.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

Strangely, the first thing Rosinante managed to register were the birds. The little white-gray ones he'd seen somewhere before, hopping from branch to branch. A handful burst through the copse with wings spread, climbing for the moon.

The tree itself came into focus a second behind.

White willow, Law would tell him later, with a trunk that was gnarled and coal-dark, with thick boughs and ash-colored leaves. It creaked with the wind. The long cords of its leaves swayed. It had partially fallen at some point, and the roots were still topside, easing their way back slowly into the sunken earth.

There was really no support for the weight of it, the whole of it, in truth except…

Rosinante walked forward mindlessly.

They were spindle-thin, metallic sheen, barely visible against the bark, but he saw them. Recognized them anywhere.

He reached out his hand and touched the strings.

The texture was worn with age, the knots neat and precise, bracing the willow's branches, bringing it up against the sky. The surrounding trees too. Tender shoots that were strained under gravity, crooked stalks growing the wrong way. Half the glade really, when he stumbled through it again to look and wondered how he'd missed it.

Doffy had made them gentle to the touch, maybe so they'd be safe to untie later, when the trees no longer needed them—these strings that Rosinante knew could cleft a building, that could suffocate the world.

And the moment it did click for him happened quite simply. Devoid of ceremony. Without stunning revelation.

It was yellowed, that memory of his brother four years ago on Rubeck. Their shadows intertwined. Standing in the late eve and smelling of leaves.

Doffy holding his hands beneath the faucet.

 _A happy ending…_

Smiling at him.

… _Rosi._

Washing the dirt clean.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Cora-san walked back to the bunker in a haze. Law watched him quietly. They said nothing to each other as the man pushed open the door, as he put Law down on the cot and settled beside him, so he could have the extra body heat. The mattress dipped as Cora-san stretched out his legs, the left one bent at the knee.

"You need to rest, kid," he murmured, staring blankly at the wall.

But Law had a million questions then he would've rather asked instead. _Was he here with you? Were those really his strings? Are we never going back? Why did we leave?_

"Cora-san," he said in the end, "You're still fighting with him, aren't you? You're still angry. He has no idea where we are, does he?"

Silence.

Law pressed his face against Cora-san's waist, the belt loop mashing into his cheek.

"Doflamingo can be a selfish prick, so I'm sure whatever happened is essentially his own fault, but…he was seriously upset, you know. Like drunk-off-his-ass daily upset, and that not-eating thing you both seem to love doing a whole lot."

More silence. Law glanced up towards Cora-san's face, only able to make out the gold of his hair.

"And I think, even though he hurt you, that he hurt himself pretty badly too."

Cora-san exhaled, legs crossing at the ankle.

Then he asked suddenly, for the first time, without inflection.

"…do you miss him, Law?"

The question sounded very important somehow. Law stared at one of the hearts on Cora-san's shirt. He didn't know what had happened or why they were running, merely that they were.

And that there'd be no more of the three of them sitting together at the prow of the ship. No more watching the ocean roll, or the cresting fins of sea kings. No more stupid things like listening to Cora-san and Doflamingo squabble about whether he needed a haircut.

No more feeling, strangely, like he was home.

And no more home too.

There were tears. What the hell. Law bunched a corner of the shirt in his hand, forcing them away before Cora-san could see them.

"I wanna stay with you," he said, because that was an irrefutable truth, "But…yeah, a lil' bit. And I wouldn't…I wouldn't mind going back. Don't you miss him too?"

He wasn't expecting an answer. And for a long while, Cora-san didn't reply. Just readjusted his position and left a hand on Law's head, the lulling, familiar weight of it making him drowsy near instantly.

It was on the teetering edge of oblivion when he thought he heard him again, quietly in the dark.

"Story of my life, kid."

* * *

xxx

* * *

At some point, though he didn't think it possible, Rosinante fell asleep. The dream was somewhere very soft and still, a milky sea of clouds. He couldn't touch or taste anything. A smell was in the air, coppery and saccharine.

"Rosi."

His head lifted, standing quickly as his brother stepped into view. Doffy's hands were behind his back. His forehead was cut in a long-crooked line and bleeding sluggishly, the dark trail wrapping down the curve of his cheek. Rosinante hurried over. Knelt to make them eye-level.

"Brother?"

"Did you like my surprise?"

"Where'd you go?" Rosinante touched his sleeve. "Doffy, you're bleeding."

"It's fine."

Rosinante didn't think so. It looked grisly. Doffy had always been so good at ignoring pain.

"Did you like it?" he was asking again, "Rosi?"

He nodded, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I did."

Doffy grinned from ear to ear, ecstatic in the only way a child could be. Blood dripped from his chin. It webbed out like smoke, evaporating into the mist.

"Then, are you coming back?"

Rosinante stared at the swirling white beneath their feet. There was a long beat, before he brushed a thumb over the bony, starving angle of his brother's shoulder. He lowered his hand, looking upon his brother's face.

"I don't know."

And then added, before Doffy's expression could wilt, "But…I'd like to check on you. Make sure you're okay and everything. After the Ope Ope."

Doffy touched his face with dry, warm hands. "Really?"

"Yeah."

His brother smiled. He pushed the hair out of Rosinante's eyes.

And after a while, Rosinante took one of his hands and held it for a moment too.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _You know, Rosi…_

* * *

xxx

* * *

When Law woke later that dawn, the cot was empty and Cora-san was gone. He'd find him down the trail again later, through the glade.

Sitting in the willow, with his long limbs hanging off the boughs. He was tracing the loops of string again, around and around with a fingernail. And when Law came close, he leaned down to scoop him into his arms.

"What do the leaves do?" Cora-san asked, skin cool from the early morning. Law kicked his legs, the sun was dripping all around them.

"If you crush them up and serve it as tea, they'll reduce fever. Soothe different kinds of inflamed joints."

"Sounds like I should make some."

"Hm, yeah."

"Oho, that was easy. Thought you weren't gonna let me do it.

Law gave him a reproachful look. "It's only boiling water, Cora-san. Are saying you need help?"

A deep laugh, deep as the sea, rumbled beneath his spine. "Point taken." Cora-san was smiling and for once, it didn't seem on reflex alone.

"'s all I have to my name, huh? Boiled water and rice balls."

Law uncrossed his arms.

"It's your own fault," he said, "You burn everything else."

Then he hugged Cora-san without explanation and Cora-san, without really startling, hugged him back.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _We're actually…a happy ending. You and me._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The addenda were found in Sengoku's desk drawer.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Ultimately._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Marine Code 01746.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Right?_


	25. baby 5: sonum pluvia

_**baby 5: sonum pluvia - "the sound of rain"**_

* * *

" _Baby," they asked me, "What happened to you?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Vergo called.

The Marines had begun moving for the North Blue, a squadron having departed late last night with Vergo at their heels. Doflamingo whistled at the would-be roster of attendees. For one Devil Fruit, the deal racked up three captains, one vice admiral and Sengoku himself. It was actually a bit shocking.

And to think Barrels was still going to part with it for a handful of beris. Such an inconceivable fool. Doflamingo's disgust grew by the day. Offing him was going to be a downright favor.

"I'll be heading your way as well, Doffy. Are you still near the whirlpool region?"

He blinked, snatched from his thoughts. His gaze lowered to regard the snail. "A bit due east now. Why?"

"Something to show you."

For a bare and strange second, Doflamingo flinched. On the bookshelf, Rosi sat with his feet hanging off the ledge, one hand resting on a corner. He'd been wordless ever since Doflamingo had made his decision, staring at him with pale eyes. Doflamingo didn't look back.

"Oh? Not just 'cause you miss me?"

"That goes without saying, Doffy," came Vergo's prompt reply, so absurd in its gravity that Doflamingo snorted, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the desk.

"The deal's in another week. You know I can't wait for you."

"I know. No need to wait. I'll catch up."

A rare insistence was lingering in Vergo's tone. Doflamingo's eyes strayed towards the shadowed ceiling. The left one hurt slightly and so did his head—one persistent, throbbing ache borne from a million charred synapses. Withdrawal. He hadn't drank in almost five days.

"'m not really in the mood for surprises."

The snail observed him.

"Trebol did tell me about what you decided," it said after a while, "Regarding your brother. That you believe he—"

"I don't _'believe,'_ " Doflamingo said, cutting him off with a flick of anger, "I know. There was a mistake."

Vergo exhaled. It was almost a sigh. "Doffy, there really is something you should know."

Doflamingo's fingers twitched, a sudden urge to reach over and end the call, before he caught the porthole out of the corner of his eye.

Rosi had moved there, legs still swinging. He held a white rose in his hand. Doflamingo's eyes widened. He almost stood, when the Den Den spoke again.

"…Doffy? Doffy, did you hear me?"

"No." He had to blink to refocus his attention. "No, say it again."

Instead of answering though, the Den Den Mushi scrutinized him for a long beat, expression deeply grim.

"…Actually, how about we talk later in the week?"

"What?"

"After you've rested a bit. You sound exhausted."

Doflamingo rolled his eyes. "You're the last thing I need nagging at me too—"

"You _do_ need it," Vergo interrupted, "In certain ways, Doffy, you're quite _shit_ at looking after your own interests. I don't think you realize."

The sudden austerity made Doflamingo blink a second time. He stared at the Den Den, brow lifting half a tick. The snail was already dipping its head though, before he could comment.

"Forgive me. That was out of line."

"Quite," Doflamingo said, voice curt. He let the word hang there for a hard, clipped second, before sighing in annoyance. "But fine, if you want it so badly. Call me later."

The Den Den Mushi nodded in thanks. Doflamingo hung up without waiting for him to say anything else. He brushed off the strange twist in his gut, striding out of the room at a brisk pace.

Rosi watched him leave.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Where are they?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

They came in with another pile of quilts, laying them down on the soft proffered cot. They moved with caution, despite the chains of sea stone snaking across the ground.

Baby Five curled tighter into the furthest corner of the cabin. Her lips were dark purple, face a bleached and tear-stained white half-curtained by fire-black hair.

She'd lost track of how many days had passed since Vale. Since she'd last seen Buffalo, still hurling death threats at the marines as they dragged him away to another ship. ( _"He's gonna kill you! You're_ _ **all**_ _gonna get it! Baby, don't worry, okay? He'll find us, Baby, don't worry…_ )

More movement. Another marine walked over, crouching low to make them eye-level—a woman that had talked to her several times already. The doctor.

She reached for her and Baby Five flinched back, wall flat against her spine. The woman sighed, holding her palms out in peace.

"I just want to check your wrist, pet," she said, eyes straying to the heavy splint mummifying Baby's hand—the wrist snapped clean in half in her attempt to escape the cuffs. Baby Five didn't know it, but that was all the crew had been able to remember for days—her small hand hanging the wrong way like a dead leaf off a winter branch.

"Please?" the doctor said quietly, "We're trying to help you."

Baby Five peered through the fringe of her wild, matted bangs—a single, ink-dark pearl alive with hate. The doctor stiffened slightly, before squaring her shoulders, her look a little sterner.

"You know we can sit here all day if that's what you want. I've got the time." A flash of fear danced over Baby's face and the woman's voice softened. "Just let me check your wrist. Make sure it's doing alright. We'll leave you alone after that, okay?"

Baby Five stared at her for another beat, untrusting. But she held out her wrist in time and the doctor smiled.

"Thank you, pet," she said, taking hold of the arm gently. There was a silver ring on her left hand, a white-cut diamond that resembled a little the one Senor had bought for Miss Russian. Baby Five side-glanced it while the woman worked, quickly moving her eyes away when she finished and stood.

"Thank you," she said again, "We'll go now. As promised."

Baby tucked her arm against her middle, face against her knees. She listened to their footsteps exit and then their voices echo in the corridor outside.

"…break was incredibly messy. We need to take off that cuff at least and keep her from moving it best we can. The cast is only going to do so much."

"What? We can't do that, doc. Kid's rabid."

"It needs to come off. The bone is not going to set right with it on." Cloth rustled, as if someone's arms had crossed, "So she's from the Family. So what? Right now, the only thing in there is a crippled little girl. What are you afraid of?"

A sigh.

"You were only recently commissioned. All you know are the stories. But the situation's not to be mishandled. We'll regret it if we do."

"The vice admiral said you listen to my orders. Do we have to get her on the line to refresh your memory?"

A longer, stiffer pause.

"We'll see what can be done."

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _What do you remember, Baby?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The strings glittered in his hand. Doflamingo laced them over each other again, leaning against the mast pole. His legs draped off the edge of the crow's nest, the long limbs swinging idly. The surrounding world was wreathed in clouds, filled with darkened streaks that promised a storm.

"Baby's probably excited," he mused, "Girl always did love the rain."

He didn't look at his brother, the tiny form standing there in mid-air, deathly still against the afternoon gale.

"Are you looking after them, I wonder." Doflamingo snorted. "Or maybe the actual question's are they looking after you."

He crooked his finger and the strings hardened and grew lean. They angled north, ready to shoot heavenward, before Doflamingo suddenly snapped them apart and tossed them into the breeze.

Dully, he rested his head against the mast. A hand returned to his pocket. Doflamingo's frown was faint.

"Why'd you take them, Rosi?" he said to the sea, "You knew they were mine."

The sea did not reply.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

("No." Trebol knocked the bundle of newspapers onto the floor. "None of these stretch back far enough."

"They're the oldest issues we have," Diamante snapped, while Pica bent to pick up the papers. "How fucking dated do you need it to be? Doffy was like fifteen in these—"

"Behehe, you can be suuuuch an imbecile, Diamante," Trebol said, his sweaty face gleaming as he gripped his cane, "To pinpoint a trail, you start at the beginning. I want the year Corazón disappeared."

"We were dodging marines throughout that year," Pica reminded, "News coos couldn't find us."

Trebol clenched his teeth, rubbing his chin with oily fingers. He made a mental note to contact Vergo and see how things were on his end. With all that additional access to the marine archives, the man had to be making better progress than themselves. Had to be.

Another droplet of sweat slinked down Trebol's chin at the prospect of otherwise. There would be no spot on the planet where they'd find refuge from Doffy. None, none, none. To the point that even then, the backburner of Trebol's thoughts was constructing ways to pin the weight of it on Vergo. Diamante and Pica too if need be.

Nasty business. This was all such nasty business.

They really should've killed Corazón when they'd had the chance. He would always regard that as his worst miscalculation in life.

"What do you think you'll find anyway?" Diamante was muttering, "Like there's gonna be a front page spread somewhere just announcing he's a navy rat or whatever. And that's still a batshit theory by the way."

Trebol ignored him. He didn't need Diamante to verbalize what he already knew to be true. A secondhand construction of events was weak. It wasn't likely to suffice, given Doffy knew how poorly they got along with Corazón already.

What would've been ten times more helpful was corroboration. Living and breathing testimony.

Something that Doffy couldn't turn his back on. Something that he would believe.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Tell us, girl. Quickly."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The weather changed with astonishing speed—the clear, bright blue of the first week's sky staining into mottled gray, the ocean churning out cyclones and icy winds, chopping and slicing and wailing.

"Bad omen," Lao G said, gaze upon the darkened porthole as he set the teapot down, "You can feel it in the bones. Right here at the joints."

"It's just the Grand Line, Lao," Gladius said, slurping pasta, "Weather's never made sense here."

"And you're always feeling something in your joints anyway," Machvise mumbled, greasy hand reached for another turkey leg. The mess table they gathered around was a giant, colorful spread of foods, ranging in variety from buttered gourmet lobster to succulent lychee to PB&J without the crust.

They had worked the cooks like mules for days, serving up every type of meal imaginable in their quest to entice their Young Master into eating. Yet for all these efforts, they'd only convinced him to pick at a bowl of pilaf about twice, before he'd grown sick of it and wandered off again. Usually to the crow's nest where he could sit for hours, like he was actually waiting for Rubeck to inch closer and closer over the horizon.

It was probably the fourth night in a row they'd been forced to eat half their own weight just to avoid the extra waste.

"I thought for sure he would want the lobster this time," Jora said, sighing, folding and re-folding the napkin in her lap, before frowning. "They must have prepared it wrong again." She moved to stand with a huff, before Pink stretched out a hand and stopped her.

"Just leave 'em be. He isn't picky and you already know that. Food's not the problem here."

A stillness ensued.

"Well, 'least he's not angry anymore," Gladius spoke into it first, always eager to point that out, and Lao G grunted in agreement.

"Wasn't like him at all. I've been with the Family ten years, you know. Never seen him that way before." He glanced at Jora and Pink for confirmation, receiving an uneasy nod and dull shrug respectively. Machvise dropped the cleaned turkey bone into his bowl, a hand on his stuffed belly.

"Do we have to keep talking about it?" he said, "It'll be over soon, right? Once Corazón and the kids get back."

The door slammed open before anyone could respond. Diamante trudged in with a muffled swear, Pica following behind, both their arms piled high with papers and maps.

"What the fuck," the former said, staring at them, "this is where you've all been for the past three hours?"

"You should be here too, helping us clear out this mess," Lao G said, without a blink, "Or at least getting the Young Master to eat something."

Diamante snorted, heading to one of the shelves and pulling a book. "If Doffy doesn't want to eat, then he's not gonna eat. You can't get him to do anything. Take it from us." Near the entrance, Pica nodded, expression flat. Jora's shoulders made a visible slump, but she didn't comment. None of them did.

Diamante shoved the book into the mountain of items he was carrying.

"In fact," he said, striding past the table again, "I'd stop botherin' him altogether, before he starts to get pissed. Fuse is like a fucking millimeter these days."

"Whose fault is that, I wonder."

The floor groaned as Diamante halted at the threshold, the first half of a step. The room was dead-still. He looked over his shoulder.

"…come again?"

Pink wiped his mouth with a napkin and dropped it onto his plate. He ignored the four pairs of shocked eyes from the table, each beaming silent warnings at him, and stood.

"Haven't seen much of you three lately. Trebol planning something?"

Diamante barked out a laugh, eyes thin as slits. "What is this," he spat, turning fully, rangy shadow creeping over the floor, "You questioning us, Pink?"

Senor Pink shrugged, his hands in his pockets. The yellow pacifier swayed on its string.

"We're pretty glad the Young Master's gotten better," he said, "I just wonder sometimes if you feel the same."

With one step, Diamante had him in the air.

Jora yelped, and Gladius, Machvise and Lao G stumbled to their feet at the same time, knocking all their chairs over with three resounding 'bangs.' Pica stood stock-still at the doorway.

Diamante dragged Pink forward, hissing, "You really do think you're hot shit now, don't you?"

"Diamante," Lao G muttered, surprised, and Machvise and Gladius rocked forward and back again, as if halted by some invisible line.

Senor Pink dangled in the air without expression, legs still. "He's my captain," was his short reply, "That's all."

Anger warped Diamante's face. "Your captain," he repeated, "Doffy's supposed to be so much fucking more than just _your captain—_ "

"Stop it."

Jora's hand gripped the back of her chair as she stood. "Stop it, Diamante," she said, face white, visibly forcing the quake from her voice, "Let 'im go, or I'll get the Young Master and _none_ of us want that."

Diamante's mouth curled into a sneer. He released Pink hastily though, and Machvise reached out to half-break the several feet he fell back to the ground. Diamante straightened, surveying them all with a pinch of disgust. "Think you know what's up from down," he said, "But believe me, you _don't._ "

Then he stomped out, snatching the pile of documents off the ground where he'd dropped them, leaving the space in a prickling tension.

"What the hell's wrong with you, Pink?" Gladius mumbled after a while, incredulous, but Senor Pink ignored him.

"Pica," he said, at the hulking form still by the doorway, "What's going on?"

The remaining executive stared at them, his dour look unreadable. The moment dragged on for so long that they almost thought he was going to answer.

But then Pica turned silently and plodded back out.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

It got very dark, very quickly in winter. Baby Five sat under the porthole, watching the smear of a moon dip and re-surface beneath the thunder clouds.

Mama had left her in winter too—that same half-circle in the sky. Baby remembered it really well for some reason, even though she could not remember Mama's face beyond a nest of barbed wire hair and a pair of giant, swirling eyes. Or the coarseness of her hand like an unpaved road, or the image of her fingers stringy from starvation.

She had never touched Baby until that day in the mountains, and maybe that's what made it so pronounced still. Mama's hard and frost-bitten knuckles, how they stamped a rack of bruises down Baby's temple. Left the faintest line of a scar where she fell and a rock opened up her cheek.

The Young Master stared when she'd pointed it out once, with the hope that maybe he'd find her impressive. Tough. More worthwhile somehow. Baby wasn't sure why she had thought that.

And he didn't look impressed. Didn't even smile.

The Young Master gestured her over. He set her down in his lap and held her face still—one hand beneath her chin, the other pressed against her temple. He studied the three-inch gash, and since he was very warm and always smelled so nice, Baby had to try hard not to lean into the touch.

" _Your mother did this?"_ the Young Master asked eventually, as if the thought was a little crazy to him, _"Why?"_

Baby Five hesitated. She didn't know how to talk about Mama. This wasn't the reaction from him that she'd been hoping for. But the Young Master looked expectant for an explanation. He was waiting and so Baby told him the only reason Mama had ever really given her.

" _Because I'm useless and she didn't need me."_

A flicker went by in his expression. Baby could not tell what it meant. He tucked her hair behind her ear though, fingertips grazing the ends of her ribbon.

There was nothing sorry in his face, but Baby felt compelled to add anyway, _"It doesn't hurt anymore."_ And it was almost true too. The scar was old and even the worst things imaginable hurt less when they were old.

The Young Master didn't reply. They were quiet a while.

Then he released her and looked her in the eye.

" _It's you, Baby, who didn't need her. Never had. Never will. She's nothing but the past and that means, as far as you ought to be concerned, that she's as good as dead too. Don't waste another second of your life thinking about such trash again."_

Baby Five tried to smile a little. It was hard though and her gaze lowered to the ground. The Young Master tipped her chin back up.

" _It's her loss,"_ he said, _"This is your home now. This is your family. I need you. Understand?"_

Baby Five's chin wobbled. She bit her lip to quell it, nodding weakly. The Young Master grinned. There was something in it that hadn't been there before. That made Baby a little warmer inside.

" _My brave girl."_

Baby hugged him. She couldn't help it, even though she knew he didn't really like to be touched in that way. It would only be for a second. Just a second and then she'd let go and apologize.

But before it had passed fully, the Young Master drew her in. He leaned back in his chair, a large hand resting on her crown.

" _It's alright, Baby,"_ he said and that was all.

On Skiff Two, sloshing along in the New World swell, Baby Five breathed out a quiet, stuttering sob. She pulled up her legs, wrapping the good hand about her knees, and wiped without strength at her face.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _I remember the color of the sky. That startling, vivid red. A bird-abandoned sky. A wide and empty one._

 _I remember Cora-san on that beach, watching us get padlocked and trussed in chains._

 _He had been a marine._

 _Cora-san, who'd made us rice balls and picked glass out of my hand and told me goodbye on a deserted shoreline._

 _With his eyes as endless as the sea._

 _The saddest things that I ever would see._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The horizon was darkening overhead. The helmsman of Skiff Two watched patches of lightning spark intermittently through the cloud cover. He steadied the wheel. They were close to Paradise at last. Another day at most, once they passed the whirlpool region, though the prospect itself had been causing dread among the crew for days.

The helmsman winced again as he pictured the battering forces the skiff would be subjected to. After wrangling with a sea king and all the other storms they'd weathered through, he didn't possess the strongest confidence the vessel would hold tight.

It was better that he'd found another way.

The helmsman checked the log pose again, running eyes down the map as well. There was a second route it seemed, if he directed the ship east into calmer waters, which would allow them to avoid the bulk of the whirlpool region.

He moved the wheel hurriedly, with some relief.

Skiff Two groaned and the prow headed east.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _And I remember that night with the rain, with the Family crowding all around me. Trebol-san was so close, I could_ _hear his mucous dripping_ _._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Doflamingo heard it before he saw it. The ocean's pulse quickening, the vibrations of new movement giving rise to a ringlet of waves. He straightened with a measure of curiosity.

Shadows swam over his shades. His head cocked as the opposing ship came wandering out of the dark.

Navy-white sails.

Three gouges down its starboard side.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(There was a ship.

The men swore, panic already beginning to churn, one of them scrabbling for a spyglass.

The thing was a great deal bigger than Skiff Two, all ghostly sails and dark, black wood—the shape of it almost akin to some giant beast. He scrutinized every inch he could make out for a pirate flag, or any evidence of a Jolly Roger. The academy had always stressed that the Big Names never failed to brandish one.

But none was found and many of their shoulders relaxed ever slightly. The doctor suggested that it was only a merchant ship, or maybe a vessel that'd been commandeered by thieves. The marines took some comfort in the theory. They'd be more than a match if that were the case.

"Keep going," the helmsman was told, "We'll try and pass them by.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

At the porthole, Baby Five gazed upon the world outside, at the hulking vessel on the waves some distance away. Her eyes were dark and wide.

In a stumble, she raced to the cabin door, numb fingers pulling at the handle to no avail. The slab was too heavy, more immovable than stone.

Baby gave up quickly, her gaze darting around the cell, before landing on the unused cot.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Young Master, we spotted marines! Young Master, I'm coming!"

With one hand, Doflamingo plucked Gladius up by his spiked collar, pulling him back before he could go barreling straight into the sea. The Family piled on deck at his heels.

"They're passing?" Lao G said, squinting at the vessel as it did an arc around them, "Oh, right, we're not on the flagship."

"Look at their boat," Machvise murmured, steering clear of the railing-less edge, "It's all small and busted up. It's probably not worth it, Young Master." He twiddled his thumbs. "…am I right?"

Doflamingo set Gladius back down, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He nodded, if only to give Machvise that momentary high, but in truth, he was slightly suspicious. What was a ship like that doing here? It couldn't be on circuit—they were nowhere close to the islands—and no naval vessels simply meandered across the New World without a point.

He thought for a moment that it might be worthwhile to probe, before then losing interest abruptly. This wasn't what he fucking needed. It wouldn't have what he wanted either.

"Let 'em go," Doflamingo said, and turned away.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

The uncoiled mattress spring fit through the lock. Baby Five's heart pounded in her ears as she hooked the key-ring off the nail it hung on, dropping it onto the quilt she had stuffed beneath the crack.

She barely breathed as she retracted the sheet back to her side of the door and picked up the keys.

 _Don't leave me,_ her thoughts spilled over, a white spreading stain, _Wait, please…_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The child appeared on deck like a mirage, absent one moment and racing towards the rail in the next.

"Fuck! The kid!" There was a scrabbling of hands shooting towards her. The girl slipped past them all, a keen, liquid grace. She had a foot on the rail, before one of the men managed to intercept her. The child screamed like an animal, kicking violently and biting down on the hand that trapped her. It was hard enough that something cracked and the man shouted in pain, slamming her against the railing.

"Stop!" the doctor ran to them, grabbing the man's shoulder, "You're hurting her! Stop!"

"Hurry," voices muttered at the helmsman, "Hurry up, go, something's not right…")

* * *

xxx

* * *

(In the end, Doflamingo wasn't sure what it was—the din of sudden thunder, a sharpness of rain, that coincidental shift from the corner of his eye.

But he stopped long before Gladius could shout that there were people on the opposing ship's deck, grappling against each other. And he turned around long before he understood why.

Then, from those few hundred meters away, a bolt of lightning struck down and illuminated the surrounding waves.

And there he saw her among the shadowy throngs, the flash of that small pale face in the dark. Looking at him, eyes wide.

Doflamingo saw nothing else for quite some time.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Tell the truth, Baby," Trebol-san would say._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The Young Master burst from the sky. Enormous. As unreal as a dream. He smashed open the clouds, the deck, the very storm in his descent.

His coat trailed behind him like mile-long wings and the entire boat rocked—hinges at a wail beneath the force of the landing.

Wood splintered. Metal sliced apart at the joints, a tuning fork's whine.

He looked unfathomably angry.

It began to rain.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Where are Law and Buffalo?" Trebol-san asked, "Where is Corazón? Tell your Young Master where he is, girl."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Three minutes and twenty-four seconds.

The doctor shuddered, gripping the handle of the gun, wet and slippery from rain and spray and the corpse's hand she'd ripped it out of. The crew had been slaughtered, most of the bodies torn to ribbons. A forty-manned crew. Demolished.

Three minutes and twenty-four seconds.

The Heavenly Demon stood at the quarterdeck, dropping the helmsman out of the air where he'd been suspended. Blood gurgled out of his slit throat, pouring onto the wood. He stepped over him and turned to her next. The doctor raised the gun, her skin grayer than the surrounding storm clouds.

No person, paper or tale had ever captured for her the size of Doflamingo Donquixote. Ten feet at least. Those glasses, a thicker and more congealed red than blood. That hair, spun fine as gold.

Rain trickled down his cold, spattered face.

"Give her to me," was all he said.

The child shifted at his voice. Her cuffed hand rose to yank at the doctor's wrist, where it held her trapped in a headlock. The doctor bit her lip. She cocked the gun and the child froze—pale, tear-stained face peering at her for the briefest of seconds.

The doctor averted her gaze.

"Let us go," she rasped, "No one will come after you, I swear."

The Heavenly Demon did not respond. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze, pinned to the gun like a beast would the bars of its cage. Waves pushed against the sides of the skiff, chilled brine streaming around their feet as rain pelted down in symphony. The doctor swallowed.

"I-If you care about this girl, if it matters to you at all what…what becomes of her, then you'll let us go. Please. She doesn't belong with you. Don't make me do this. Please."

A vein twitched in his face. He looked at the child a long, indecipherable moment.

Then he said, "Baby…did you hear that? She wants me to leave. To forget all this and let you go. I'm supposed to watch her take you away from me even though she's already _dead_ from any conceivable standpoint and you're still _mine_ —"

The doctor shook her head, blood leaching out of her face. "No, that's not—"

"Baby, what are we going to do?"

"P-Please, I'm engaged, please, I jus—"

The words choked in her throat. The girl turned, glancing up at her with black, rain-soaked eyes. The doctor's arm dropped away.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _I remember looking at the Young Master, who lifted the slipping towel back up around my shoulders._

" _Go ahead, Baby," he whispered, "It's okay."_

 _But it wasn't okay. I could see it in his expression, paler than snow, lips a near colorless line. He didn't want me to tell him. He didn't want to know why._

 _He was afraid. My Young Master who wasn't afraid of anything._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The marine woman hit the floor with a dull thud, blood already pooling.

Baby Five pulled the misshapen blade out of her chest, morphing it back into her stained and uncuffed hand. Shredded bits of the cast's plaster floated down around her feet. Baby Five inhaled, a shuddery gasp of pain as she tucked her shattered wrist to her side. She stepped over the body on quaking legs, hiccuping and dress torn, working arm outstretched.

The Young Master was there in two strides. His palm rested on the back of her head as he lifted her. They were both blood-spackled and soaked in rain. Lightning sizzled the air. The unmanned skiff creaked like it was about to give way.

And yet for the strangest and briefest of beats, the Young Master didn't move—just stood there, wordless, fingers half-threaded in her hair. Baby didn't know what he was doing. She didn't care either, taking the opportunity to press as close as she could. They were still and she'd wonder later if she imagined it then-the Young Master's hand tightening around her.

Strings glided out of his sleeves eventually though and the wind swooshed in her ears as he carried her into the night.

Baby Five buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of home.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _He asked it of me. Not with his words. Not even consciously._

 _But at eleven years old, that's what I heard. There in the deepest part of my soul._

 _The Young Master didn't want me to tell him. He didn't want to know._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Hours later, Doflamingo pulled the towel back up around Baby Five's shoulders. The girl was shivering wet still, hair plastered and sluiced against her face. She had his sleeve, white-fisted in her good hand, and didn't seem like she'd let go of it for anything.

"…tell your Young Master where he is, girl."

Trebol was sweating, his mucus dripping on the floor. Baby Five looked at him and then away.

There was an odd sound stuck in Doflamingo's ears. An echoing, stampeding thud.

He nodded blankly.

"Go ahead, Baby. It's okay.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _And perhaps that truly is the reason it happened in the end. Because he asked me to._

 _Because it was the sole way my subconscious knew how to obey-not a_ _fiber able to refuse._

 _My Young Master, who gave me a home…_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The girl's mouth opened, a trembling breath escaped. She moved her lips.

And there was nothing.

Baby Five froze. Doflamingo's eyes went wide.

"Baby?" he said, leaning in, and the Family stirred behind him, murmuring with alarm, "Baby, say something.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

… _who was terrible, beautiful, miserable, empty…_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The child touched her throat, color vanishing out of her face. Her lips parted again, moving. Not a sound. No trace of a voice.

Nothing but the rain.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

… _and loved his brother more than he ever could say._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Nothing but the rain.


	26. novilunium

**novilunium - "new moon"**

* * *

 _Four years ago, on Rubeck's moon-lit bluff, Rosinante Donquixote swore and clutched at his nose._

" _Fuck, it's broken this time. Definitely, definitely broken. You broke it, Doffy. Look at this."_

" _It's not broken," Doflamingo said for the third time, fiddling with a small hand-held radio, silver knobs turning between his fingers. "It's not even bleeding. Stop jumping around and come here. Sit down."_

 _Rosinante dropped his hands, glaring daggers at the back of his brother's head. He obeyed eventually though, plunking down with more force than necessary. Doflamingo ignored him._

" _You've got a decent grasp on producing that field now," he said, "How about we make things more interesting?"_

 _Rosinante eyed his brother's grin, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Pretty sure we've got different ideas on what constitutes as interesting."_

" _Heh, yes, and it's suitably tragic." He chuckled, disregarding the annoyed look sent at him. "But I'm talking about further refining your Devil Fruit. You know you're stuck on certain assumptions about how the power should work. It's limiting you."_

" _I'm perfectly fine without it—"_

 _Doflamingo leaned his chin against his knuckles. "Of course, Rosi," he said, "You're not the same anymore. I'm aware."_

 _The bemusement of it made Rosinante blink. His brother was already holding up the radio when he looked at him though, rows of white teeth on display._

" _This is only...for fun. Because I never was able to…" His hand gestured in the air, a little meaninglessly, conveying no message Rosinante could understand. "Just listen, alright? You'll thank me someday."_

 _Rosinante stared at his brother, a tad bewildered. But the excitement in Doflamingo's face was almost painfully real—a thing so hopeful and dumb that it squeezed Rosinante's heart into bloodless pulp._

" _What confidence."_

 _Doflamingo shrugged. "Well. I do know everything."_

 _He grinned as his brother laughed, thumping him on the back. The moment that flashed between them was beyond any messy realm of words. Small. Not yet dusted._

" _Alright," said Rosinante softly, "tell me what you're talking about."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the first day...

* * *

xxx

* * *

The little man trembled, his lab coat rumpled and stained, dragging against the ground. He clutched the tubes of his stethoscope.

"I…I-I'm sorry, sir. I don't think I can help you."

"Liar," Diamante jeered, and Pica nodded. "Liar."

"Shut up," Doflamingo snapped and they almost jumped, before their heads quickly lowered. Doflamingo leaned forward in his seat, elbows on knees, observing the man as he cowered on the lounge floor.

"Tell me what's wrong with the girl," he said simply.

But there was only another series of blubbering apologies, entreaties for mercy and all that other trite. This was the fifth doctor they'd taken from the fifth port they'd come across already and each result had been the same so far.

Baby Five was mute.

Even though there was no damage to the vocal cords, no indicative injuries of any kind, internal or external. Trauma had been their best guess—something she'd seen, perhaps, on that boat.

And they didn't know, not a single fucking one of them, if she'd ever be speaking again.

Doflamingo's hands curled, nails digging into flesh. He was regretful of killing those marines now. Should've made them suffer a lot longer. Made them pay. They had broken what was his.

He should have returned it tenfold.

"Get out," he snarled and Diamante and Pica obeyed hastily, the latter lifting the man like a toy. Doflamingo's hands flattened on the armrests as the door clicked shut after them. Sparks were flying over the settled bed of his anger.

"You too, Baby," he muttered and the lounge's sole other occupant stared up at him with large, gleaming eyes. Confused. Nervous.

Baby raised her hand for his sleeve, wanting to be held and comforted for the seventh time that day, and Doflamingo's patience was trickling out like water from a cracked jug. His hands twitched.

Then from the corner of his eye, he saw Rosi shift, the cool, clamminess of his gaze drifting over him.

 _You,_ it said, _would never._

Doflamingo exhaled through his nose. His hands relaxed and he leaned down for the child.

"Insubordinate brat," he muttered, dusting the static out of Baby's skirt, "You're getting as bad as Law."

The girl beamed up at him, little hands steadying herself against his knee. Her hair was still a tangled mess, knotted and half-fallen over her eyes.

The ghost of something, he realized.

Doflamingo's face softened, almost unbidden. "Where'd your ribbon go?" he murmured, and smoothed a few of the strands away.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He found the radio at sunrise. Stuffed into a corner of the black chest in the main room, pinned beneath three different bottles of alcohol. He winced at the rust as he extracted it, fiddling with the power button as Law stood on tiptoe beside him and peered over the rim.

His amber gaze took in the assortment of junk the Family had accumulated over the years—outdated sea charts and faded poker chips, large ivory chess pieces and bundled decks of water-warped cards.

"Cora-san, look."

Rosinante grunted, trying to smack the radio back to life. "Don't hurt yourself, kid."

"But look."

With a sigh, Rosinante sent a distracted glance at the child, blinking though once he saw the weather-worn comic book hanging in Law's hand.

"Sora the Sea Warrior," the boy said, a rare thread of excitement in his tone. He held the magazine up with automatic expectation—one of the more amusing habits Doffy had accidentally conditioned into him—and a laugh huffed from Rosinante.

"It's an old one," he'd note beneath the white willow later, Law perched on his leg and the colored pages spread between them. The narrative was a lot richer than the recent issues he knew were circulating—more story on its bones than simple propaganda in pastels. It followed Sora's fight to free a sea town from the control of the Germa. The townspeople spoke of seeing a cageless horizon and reaching out to touch their dreams.

It was the kind of fare Doffy could've puked at reading and Rosinante half-thought Law would be the same.

But the child didn't look disgusted as his eyes slid down the dulling watercolors. More curious. A pinch befuddled. Rosinante rested his chin on the small fur hat.

"Do you have dreams too, Law?"

"Dreams are pointless," was the instant reply. It wasn't with any particular adamance though. Rosinante's gaze drifted across the glade.

"Really?"

Law was quiet. He stared down at the comic book, features scrunched up, a flicker of hesitation in his eye. "...I used to want to open my own clinic one day. Like my parents. Somewhere away from here, where people would need it." Law shrugged. "It's stupid…"

Rosinante's fingers twitched. He turned the child around suddenly, hands enveloping the tiny shoulders.

"No, it's not."

His voice slipped out harder than he intended. The boy almost looked a little startled. Rosinante softened his grip.

"It's not stupid," he said, "I told you, you're going to live."

Law frowned. "I know," he mumbled, "I just meant that..."

He trailed off however in time, glaring heatlessly at the strings twining the surrounding branches, glittering against the dawn. Law crossed his arms, white-spotted cheeks faintly dusted with pink.

"I dunno. I want to stay. You'll probably need a lung transplant in a few years anyway, may as well be around to crack up over that…"

The kid broke off with a yelp as Rosinante ground a hard noogie into his head. He smiled as Law tried to wriggle away, all young snickering laughter.

"Careful, brat," he warned, relenting after a few more seconds, "Remember who you're sitting on."

"You wouldn't drop me," Law said, with the deepest of certainty. He had Doffy's grin too. When the hell had that happened? Rosinante tried to get worried, and made a wrong turn into helpless fondness instead.

"What confidence," he whispered and righted the child's hat.

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the second...

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The Young Master bought her a new ribbon. It was bright yellow, even shinier than the one she had lost. Gold as the dawn of that day.

"You'll take good care of this one, right?" he said, looping it into her hair.

Baby Five bobbed her head up and down. She had never meant anything more in her life.

Her giggle was a raspy breath as the Young Master finished the knots, flopping the tails into her face.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(They walked along the beach at sunset. Law sat on Cora-san's shoulders, fingers anchored in his hair. It was getting kind of hard to stand for long, not more than thirty minutes now before he got dizzy. And this morning, Law had woken up to realize his left ring and pinky finger had gone tingly and numb—a late-stage symptom of the amber lead.

He kept it all to himself though. Cora-san would've never agreed to a walk if he knew. He'd have parked Law in bed and spent the rest of the night making tortured faces at him, because Cora-san blamed himself for nearly everything under the sun.

And it was nice to be out here at dusk, the ocean winds cool over his overheated skin, the permeating quiet of Rubeck softer than silk. Cora-san didn't talk very much when alone. He smoked and gazed out upon the horizon, foaming tide swirling around his legs. Law wondered sometimes what he was looking at.

"Swallow's over that way," he pointed out one day, "and Minion's to the south."

Law studied the near-invisible shapes in the distance, one a bird and the other something squatting low. Something waiting. The yellowed white of a hungry eye.

Law thought it took them in, appraised them eagerly.

Cora-san breathed out a cloud of white.

"What's wrong, kid?" he murmured, as Law hunched down, hiding his face, strangely frightened.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the third…

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rumors picked up at ports that Barrels had reached the island triangle. In the drunken mist of ramblings and bar fights, Diez had revealed the crew was planning to hunker down on Minion, setting up base there in case negotiations soured.

"He knows you're comin'" their informant muttered, cradling the sack of beris like a newborn, "Says he ain't afraid. That he'll take the North Blue back from you, just like he did the Ope Ope."

The Family riled like angry dogs, curses and threats hissing through the air. Doflamingo rested an elbow on his chair, temple leaning against his hand. He had no thoughts whatsoever for the opinions of a dead man.

Much more fun that Barrels wasn't afraid anyway. Every port, town and crew around here was paying the Family tribute by now. Doflamingo didn't get to prove people wrong as much as he used to and he rather missed the experience of it. How _visceral_ it was.

If he didn't know better, he'd have thought Barrels was even being a tad clever, trying to goad him with these breadcrumb rumors, hoping to redirect the better portion of the marines' attentions.

None of that meant anything to Doflamingo either.

He would have the Ope Ope. That was all.

"Fucking old man." Gladius gripped the holster of his sidearm, gnashing his teeth so hard that Baby Five peered at him. "He wants everything you've built here, Young Master!"

Doflamingo waved his hand. The sea lapped from beyond the porthole.

"Doesn't matter what we want, Gladius," he muttered, Rosi's reflection catching in the glass, "Only matters what we do."

* * *

xxx

* * *

The Barrels crew arrived on Minion. Abruptly and matter-of-factly, coming to shore in the dead of night.

The stacks of their campfires billowing thinly up towards a waxing moon, the outline of their Jolly Roger just visible through the binoculars. His hunch had been right—they were establishing base on Minion after all.

 _A straight diagonal path from Rubeck, less than eight-hundred meters away..._

Law coughed, doubling over in his lap. The sound had started to ring in Rosinante's head, making his skin prickle all over.

"You okay, kid?" he asked quietly.

The child nodded, collapsing for a moment against Rosinante's chest to catch his breath. His face was pale and vaguely tinged green.

"Do you need a bucket?"

"No."

"I'd rather you didn't puke on me, Law."

"Not gonna puke, shut up."

Rosinante nudged a nearby pail closer anyway with his foot. The struggling rhythm of Law's breaths dragged the air. An incessant, needling impatience was crystallizing in Rosinante's veins.

The boy was deteriorating fast. Each passing second seemed more and more like a wasted moment, a grain of sand dissolving.

Logically, it'd be safer to wait for the actual hand-off on Rubeck. Better footing and a more familiar layout, readily available distractions as well.

Yet none of that did anything to stop the way Minion seemed to watch him, even through the back of his skull.

 _One quick boat ride. Fifteen minutes at most. The Ope Ope was right there. Why was he sitting here twiddling his thumbs when his kid was fucking dying…_

The edge of Rosinante's sleeve was grabbed, bunching in a small hand.

Law sat up.

"I'm okay now," he rasped, amber gaze flitting just once towards the window and back again. In his free hand, he fanned his cards out once more. "It's your turn, Cora-san."

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the fourth…

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Cora-san spent most of the morning and afternoon working on the old radio he'd found. He sat next to the bed where Law drifted in and out of sleep, weak and nauseous from an unshakeable fever.

Ancient static lapped the room, filling the stone walls.

There was an odd fixation in Cora-san's expression. He fiddled again and again with the knobs, tweaking them, despite all the channels producing the same eerie sound.

Law watched him for some time without comment.

Then he asked, "Cora-san, what are you doing?"

There was no immediate answer. Cora-san lifted his splayed hand, hovering it over the speaker. Law's vision was blurry from fatigue, eyelids weighted and growing heavier.

So it must have been his imagination—the strange shimmery blue that trailed out of the speaker, tangling around Cora-san's fingertips like pieces of silk. How the static seemed to narrow then, as if stripped off even the dust motes of the room.

Cora-san looked satisfied. His voice swam through a newfound stillness, a ghost's in the radio.

"Go back to sleep, Law.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The moon was a sliver when they entered North Blue, leaving most of the night in a steely, black cold. Ice floes bobbed in the sloshing waves. From the crow's nest, they were like spots of snow in tar. Baby Five hid her nose in the Young Master's coat when the wind picked up, pressing against the furnace heat of his body.

He was working with his strings again, forming them into strange shapes Baby had never seen before. His hands shook intermittently, assaulted by tremors. Baby reached out to try and rub them a bit, worrying perhaps that they were cold.

"Did you know, Baby," the Young Master said suddenly though, before she could, breaking the stillness, "that Rosi has a Devil Fruit? The Nagi Nagi no Mi."

She whipped around, eyes wide. The Young Master's lips quirked at the corners.

"Heh, well, it wasn't exactly common knowledge. He didn't talk about it. Or use it really. We were both of the opinion that it didn't have much use."

The Young Master shook his head, laughing thinly. "Everything's about perspective in the end I suppose."

He sounded tired. Baby waited for him to explain. He didn't.

There was another silence.

Then the Young Master added out of nowhere. "Did you know he left me once before too?"

He swung a leg loose, letting it hang over the edge of the platform.

"Way before. We were brats then. I had to go away for a while and couldn't take him. I had no choice. I asked him to wait for me. I said I was coming back."

The Young Master sighed, long and hard, borderline violent. His fingers twitched. It was vividly fresh in its frustration—a piping wound that'd been left to fester.

"And he didn't, Baby. He didn't wait. He left me. My own brother. Everything I ever did for him all our fucking wretched lives and he couldn't— _couldn't even_ —"

He broke off, teeth clenched, veins beginning to thump on his temples. The strings sharpened, sliding through the air the way a blade did from its sheath. They extended towards the sky and he looked then so incredibly and desperately in pain, like he couldn't stand any part of the feeling anymore.

Baby Five felt almost sick inside. She didn't know what to do.

Again, she tried in vain to force her voice back into being. The words were there, swimming around and around in her belly, but still refusing to materialize. As if a whole wall had come slamming down.

 _Cora-san_

 _is_

 _a traitor_

 _a liar_

 _a bad person_

 _You're going to kill him, Young Master_

 _And then he won't hurt you anymore_

The edges of her vision blurred. Baby blinked as a confusing warmth slid down her cheek, plipping off her chin.

She touched her cheek and was surprised when her hand came away wet. Baby Five wiped her eyes quickly though, before the Young Master could see.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the fifth…

* * *

xxx

* * *

There were stars out already at late noon, so many they stained the sky, their reflections seeping into the sea. Doflamingo stared at the oddity of it as he massaged his temples. His head hurt a great deal today, mimicking the pounding staccato of a jackhammer.

It was very unhelpful that Trebol had decided at this juncture to finally surface from wherever he'd been, slithering on deck to menace the girl.

"Still not talking, are we?" His manacles clanked. "Not much use you've served since getting back."

Baby Five flinched, skin paling to powdery white. The display seemed only to incense Trebol further and his teeth sawed back and forth like a millstone. "Little wench," he hissed, and began to advance, steps clunky and moist.

He only froze when Doflamingo clicked his tongue.

"Interesting." He turned around. "I believe I already told you to drop this issue, didn't I?"

Trebol hesitated. "Doffy—"

"I hate repeating myself. You know I hate repeating myself, and yet that's all I ever seem to do with you these days." He tilted his head, expression smooth as new pavement, voice so blisteringly hot it rivaled a pit of magma.

" _Think it's fun to push me, Trebol?_ "

Baby Five's eyes widened, her hand whitening as it clutched his coat. Trebol held his own hands up, retreating several meters back. A peal of laughter dribbled from him.

"Never, Doffy. It's not my intention to upset you. I was only...a little frustrated is all. On your behalf. We were so close to learning the truth."

His mouth pursed. Baby Five tugged on his sleeve. "I'll know the truth when I find him."

Trebol nodded, a put-out sigh. "I suppose we do have to wait for that now. Unfortunately."

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed. There was a subtle and sudden amiability in Trebol about the subject that he disliked.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

Trebol looked confused. "Around, Doffy."

"Doing what?"

There was a pause. "...Speaking with Vergo. He's almost reached Rubeck too actually."

If only a mite, Doflamingo's gaze wavered. "What?"

"He's got something for you," Trebol said, and his fingers flattened against the jamb of the door. "Something to _show_ you."

Doflamingo was silent.

Trebol inched back into the shade of the threshold.

"You know...this is already the second time, isn't it?" he said suddenly, "That Corazon's gone. I know it doesn't matter to you, Doffy, where he went that first time around. Or why. Of course it doesn't matter, of course of course. He's your brother, why should it matter?" His cane leaned forward, drawing out a low moan from the floorboards.

"But you must have a few ideas about it anyway, don't you?"

Then Trebol vanished back into the bowels of the ship. So swiftly he could've evaporated. Doflamingo stared at where he'd been, unmoving even as Baby Five pressed against his leg, whimpering like a worried pet.

In his ears, that dull, thudding echo started up again.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Law's forehead was broiling.

Rosinante spent half the day wringing towels and holding the child up for sips of white willow tea. The other half he paced the floor, stuffing ashtrays full of cigarette butts, and weaving in and out of the idea of charging down to the beach and taking the boat straight to Minion, because _fuck the plan fuck all of it including this waiting he needed the Ope Ope_ _ **now.**_

"No," Law muttered, with strange urgency, "there's still two more days. I'm okay. Don't go. Wait until they land on Rubeck like you've been planning for, you _idiot._ "

He refused to so much as rest his eyes until Rosinante agreed and gave his word.

Maybe the kid still didn't believe him though, since he kept stubbornly awake throughout the night, rambling about everything and nothing—the little observations he'd made over the years, questions he had about the Family.

"Did Jora have a baby?"

"What?"

"How she acts sometimes. We were always wondering."

A beat.

"She use to. It got taken away."

"Oh. Why?"

"Because she couldn't take care of it."

"She didn't love her own baby?"

"I didn't say that."

Silence.

"Why does Trebol hate you so much?"

"Feeling's mutual."

"Why though?"

More silence. Rosinante stared at the wall and didn't answer, smoke webbing and flowing out the window. There were endless reasons, a dozen reasons, ten reasons, one reason only. Law didn't push for any of them.

"You always look sad."

Rosinante blinked.

"No, I don't."

Law just stared at him, like he was trying to puzzle him out.

"You look sorry."

Rosinante pressed his mouth tight. He took up the radio again and fiddled around aimlessly with it. The past flooded out around him, filling into the corners of the room.

 _Go back to the hut, Rosi,_ his brother had said, about to stagger north for Mariejois, standing at a distance because Rosinante couldn't bear the sight of him. _You have to take care of yourself for a while._

 _Try to eat what we have, but if you run out then remember the south alley is alright to cross at late noon, but never morning or night. There's a weak spot in the chain link around the rice shed, along the bottom right corner. Untwist it slowly so you don't cut yourself. The guard dog makes a lap every eight minutes. Sixty seconds in one minute right? Keep count in your head while you move._

 _We're gonna be okay. Don't cry anymore._

 _I'll come back for you, Rosi. I will, I promise._

 _Wait for me_

 _Wait for me_

"You're a good person, Cora-san," Law murmured, too exhausted for embarrassment, "What do you have to be so sorry about?"

 _Don't leave me here, Rosi, don't go..._

"What are you talking about, Law?" Rosinante whispered, tears beading in the dark.

* * *

xxx

* * *

On the sixth…

* * *

xxx

* * *

The sun was pale.

* * *

xxx

* * *

The crane turn on groaning wheels.

It hauled a pile of steel beams onto the skeletal platform of a new building. Vale's charred town square was a buzzing swarm of reconstruction and activity. In the following month, the kingdom seemed finally on the mend, the smoldered wreckage left from the fires mostly cleared out and morale restored.

Odds were good they'd be leaving for Rubeck at noon.

Tsuru was glad. She'd been getting a bad feeling as of late that she couldn't describe.

A gasp came from behind her. "Oh god."

Her young lieutenant, Mio, had bent down a few feet away, crouching in the ruins of a merchant's cart. Twisted among the wheels lay the melted corpse of a paradise bird, cage half-collapsed around its wings.

"No one stopped to save it."

Tsuru's eyes dimmed. "You don't know that. Maybe someone tried."

"But they still didn't." The girl's shoulders slumped, her expression crumpled. "It's such a shame, ma'am."

Tsuru looked down at the bird again. It had perished on its back, eyes towards the sky, consumed by the infernos.

"Yes," she said softly, "it is a shame."

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Sir, we're about a day away from the triangle."

Sengoku grunted, nodding his dismissal of the cadet.

He'd spent the last few days perched on nails, checking his Den Den Mushi constantly for calls or missed messages. He was starting to wonder if Rosinante had even received the recording or worse, if it'd been a mistake to send it to him in the first place.

Tsuru had said that the sick child was still with him, and the Ope Ope was coveted foremost for its miraculous healing abilities. Rosinante couldn't be so reckless as to…

Sengoku sighed, attempting to rid himself of the anxious meanderings. No, the boy wouldn't. Impossibly low self-preservation or not, Rosinante had his head on straight when it came to unnecessary risks.

Sengoku would go find him after this whole Barrels fiasco. Extract him from this region as he should have done years ago. Get those children he'd saved taken care of.

And then...then they would see about trying to help his brother. Together.

Time on the sea with only his own thoughts had snapped a few things into perspective for Sengoku.

Doflamingo was murderous, obsessive and stunted as all hell. Sengoku still believed there were basic parts of him that'd never worked from the start.

But he was also quite young still. Even if his best shot had been in childhood, perhaps he _would_ be receptive to rehabilitation if given the chance. The Navy had been developing a more sophisticated treatment program as of late, on account of all the civil unrest and massive influxes of young pirates.

He could pull a few strings, Sengoku decided.

Because regardless of his opinions on the matter, Doflamingo had been calming down ever since Rosinante had returned to him. Less brutality in his methods. Less casualties of his happenstance. It'd been an incremental change, a nigh invisible and almost nonexistent sort of change, but change nonetheless. Sengoku had never thought Doflamingo capable of it until the evidence was staring him in the face.

Maybe he should've pointed this out to Rosinante after all, that his efforts weren't in vain. Been more encouraging in general perhaps. The boy had never managed to forgive himself for leaving his brother in North Blue all those years ago, no matter what anyone said.

Sparing him some sympathy now and again wouldn't have cost anything. Wouldn't have hurt anyone.

Sengoku slid off his glasses with another sigh. He rubbed his eyes.

After Barrels, he vowed. Things were going to change.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _You're a natural." Doflamingo said, practically beaming, teeth flashing beneath Rubeck's moon_

 _Rosinante marveled at his own hand. "God...did you drug me, Doffy?"_

 _A snort. Doflamingo rolled his shoulders, popping his neck. "Wouldn't you like that. No, you little shit, it's all from the fruit. I told you it was a matter of creativity."_

 _He picked the radio off his brother's lap, setting it aside. "Enough practicing." His knuckles cracked as he stood._ " _Time for a field test."_

 _Rosinante's head snapped up. "What?"_

" _We're going to fight. On your feet, hurry up."_

 _Rosinante's mouth opened. Shut again. He sighed and stood as well._

 _"Isn't this just an excuse for you to whale on me?"_

" _Fufu, you sell yourself short, little brother," Doflamingo chided, adding more softly after a moment, "Shouldn't do that."_

 _Rosinante looked at him and then away._

" _Here we go then," he mumbled, tossing his cigarette. Doflamingo grinned._

" _Here," he agreed, "we go."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

(A man met them at the channel into Rubeck that late noon. Black hair, black beard and black gloves. One long pale trench coat. The Young Master met him on deck. He'd been standing there practically the whole day.

"You didn't call," he mumbled, as the figure climbed aboard.

"Thought this would be best," came the reply. It was a deep, flat voice.

Baby's eyes widened as the stranger stepped up to the Young Master and took his arms, hands resting over his elbows. She was even more surprised when the Young Master let him, saying nothing. His face was whiter than the steam of their breaths.

"How are you, Doffy?" the stranger asked softly, a pulse of genuine concern, "You still look like shit."

"Don't start."

The Young Master's voice was stiff. Baby Five inched out a little, curious, and the man glanced down without warning, catching her in his gaze with such abrupt speed that she jolted and clung to the Young Master's leg again.

A thoughtful noise was made. A brow arched. "Ah, wasn't aware you had a little shadow on you."

The stranger leaned forward, wearing the blackest shades she'd ever seen, so thick and opaque they glinted. She could not imagine actual eyes swimming in the darkness of those shades.

"This," he said, "must be Baby Five." A gloved hand patted his chest. "You can call me 'Vergo-san.'"

Baby pressed her cheek against the seam of the Young Master's trousers, only one eye visible beneath her hair. Vergo-san didn't seem to mind.

He inspected her, head inclining up and down, and Baby grew reflexively still, learned in the ways of being inspected. He gave a very light smile. "A useful girl. I can tell."

Baby Five blinked. Her eyes brightened in spite of herself. She had not been called useful in a long while, but it still brought a giddy sense to her heart. She looked at the stranger again, offering a timid smile back. Maybe he wasn't as scary as she thought.

"How about you let go of our young master for a while? I've come a long way. I've got something important to show him."

The leg she was hugging tightened, a sudden, ragged tension. Startled, Baby Five peered at her Young Master, but he had no expression to be seen. The leg relaxed again within a split second. Baby almost didn't know if it'd been the simple rocking of the ship instead.

But she hesitated, small hands gripping the fabric, holding on until the Young Master touched her crown.

"It's okay, Baby," he said, a little blankly, letting her ribbon slide out of his hand, "It's getting cold."

He eased her off him and in the end, she let him go.

She let him go.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(At dusk, Law found footprints in the trail. Wider than Cora-san's. Bigger than his own. The footprints of strangers. Three sets of them. Their boat had been dragged onto shore on the rockier end of Rubeck-a wizened, decayed vessel reeking of spilled rum. Diez Barrels' Jolly Roger fluttered on the end of its battered post.

But Law didn't ever actually learn of any of this. All he really saw that eve, _felt_ that eve, was the silence of the woods. The magnified rustle of their leaves. There were more stars out then than every night before it combined.

And those three hunkering forms, dressed heavy and red-nosed. Laughing. Carving up the white willow.

Any normal child would have run then. Fled back to the tower and gotten Cora-san, who he'd left asleep, because Cora-san had been exhausted and Law had been buzzing, sweltering over with fever, needing to be outside even if it'd been unwise. Any normal child would've known they stood no chance.

Law wasn't normal by any standard.

The closest one died without a sound, a scalpel lodged into his throat. He fell face-forward onto the tender grass, leaking out, and Law never would have any idea of what he had looked like.

Not that he'd spare a thought over that for years to come.

 _Get away from it you GET away from it I'll FUCKING kill you get away from it NOW_

In retrospect, he wasn't even sure if he'd been thinking those words or shouting them. He pounced on the next closest man, pulling a second knife from his shoe, heard twin yells of shock and had nearly plunged the blade into the flesh beneath, when a fist smashed into his face.

Law's vision exploded with light. He didn't feel it when he tumbled off and hit the ground breathless and he almost didn't feel the slab of a hand grab his throat either.

"Fuck! Where'd this brat come from?!"

"Don't know. Captain said Rubeck got abandoned centuries ago."

"He killed Isaac! What kind of kid-"

"Forget that, Sid," the hand yanked Law forward, squeezing on his windpipe until every breath was dragging through a tunnel of shards. Law's gaze flitted. His head spun. He was going to lose consciousness and the cold edges of panic tickled him.

A scarred and whiskered face swam in his vision, yellowed teeth bared. A less burly man with a sunburnt neck hung back.

"It's this he was tryin' to protect," his captive said, nodding at the willow. "Just a tree of all things. Stupid little fucker." He gave an ugly, barking laugh. Something shined in his free hand and the broad blade of a machete whipped through the air. "Looks like it could do with some ornaments. How about I—"

It was hard to say which came first. The fall of that last word or the crack of the man's nose.

Law gasped when the hand vanished from his throat, wheezing and hacking and clawing for oxygen. His head hit the ground limply and he saw only through a haze as Cora-san sent a three-hundred pound man across the glade like a rag doll.

And then pulverized him. Punched him so hard that things squelched and moved beneath skin. Punched him again and again and again until the scarred man was a bloody mewling lump.

"I'll kill you," Cora-san said, like it was a fact so obvious it was almost not worth mentioning.

He had the man by his throat, mimicking the pose Law had been held in earlier, lifting him up like he weighed about as much as Law too.

Then he raised his hand.

Then a thread spiraled out of his index finger. Strange shimmery blue.

Cora-san crooked his finger and Law saw that it was attached to the man's chest, that it was vibrating and pulsing like it was being plucked by a frantic, invisible hand, and it clicked out of nowhere what he was seeing.

A heartbeat. It was the man's heartbeat.

Law wouldn't remember when the last pirate had run. He wouldn't remember anything in that moment except for how Cora-san looked, towering over the man, like some immovable force of nature. Feathers shivering, strings spread, head tall enough to scrape the roof of the world.

"Fuck," the man gurgled, through busted lip and nose, squinting at him, "Doflamingo?"

Cora-san snapped the thread.

The body spasmed once. It dropped hard. Dead.

Cora-san had picked him up. Law blinked. Some time had been missing there. His vision was foggy and gray save for a single narrowing strip. Cora-san was yelling his name. The sound warbled. There was blood on his hands. His eyes were as red as the sea, when the dusk light dove into its folds. He was his brother. He was Cora-san.

Law's lips parted. He wanted to tell Cora-san that he was okay. That he just needed to rest a while. He wanted to tell him that he wasn't supposed to look so cool and since when was he a Devil Fruit user at all?

But he couldn't manage, his eyes were too heavy, everything was disappearing. He was sorry.

The last coherent thing Law took in was Cora-san swearing up a storm, racing somewhere with his arms around him.

There was the damp smell of a boat's hull. There was the sloshing of the waves.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Are you coming, Doffy?" Vergo said, the other three executives lurking behind him.

Doflamingo stood at the threshold, staring into the darkness at them. The wind flushed through his hair as he peered over his shoulder that last time. Rubeck lingered in the quiet, bare distance, a gentle shadow reflected in his frames.

The sky was black. Stars like a million pinhole eyes.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _No moon tonight,_ Rosinante thought in a jumble, parting from that dream-like shore, a straight course for Minion Island.

 _No moon tonight._


	27. fractus

**fractus - "broken"**

* * *

(The suit was stunning on Doffy.

Vergo's mouth curled at the corners as he drank in the sight of his king. He'd gotten the piece in the Forty-Fifth Yarukiman Grove—an obscenely expensive set, made of finely woven burgundy wool and exquisite rayon lining. The inseams, cuffs and shoulders had been tailored precisely to Doffy's size and the whole attire wrapped around his form with exceeding flattery.

Trebol and Diamante crowed on about how well it looked on him, while Pica nodded in solemn agreement. Vergo admired the accentuated leanness it brought to Doffy's height, his narrow waist and sinewy cords of muscles. Captivating still, despite the haggard paleness of his face.

"It really becomes you," he said and nodded at the lounge table, where a plush pair of gloves had been folded—auburn leather and fur-lined, "The days have been getting colder. I had the tailor throw in a free pair of gloves."

The fellow had needed a bit of menacing too, which he recounted to Doffy in full, hoping to provide him some amusement. Lavish presents always pleased his king, doubly so when they were less actual presents but extracted collateral. A residual mindset from his Mariejois days, Vergo figured.

Yet Doffy didn't seem to be finding humor in it. Barely even looked like he'd been listening. He picked at his fingers, gaze fidgeting continuously towards the porthole and the fading silhouette of Rubeck outside.

"Stop stalling."

Diamante and Pica flinched. It was subtle enough not to be noticed. Trebol remained unperturbed. He was even almost smiling, the anticipation practically oozing from him and dripping wetly onto the floorboards.

Detestable. Vergo's brow ticked. He had been ready for this moment a long, long time himself, but could at least practice a measure of self-control until everything was over. Doffy would probably be upset for months, moreso than now or even eighteen years ago. Adjusting to the freedom of being unshackled, so to speak.

It'd be no picnic. There was really nothing for Trebol to be so excited about at all in Vergo's opinion and he made it known with a black, frigid glance at him, before picking up the gloves.

"You should sit down for this, Doffy," he said, reaching out to put them over Doffy's welted hands himself.

The nails were utterly ragged and blood-beaded, some of them split open at the tips. Vergo covered them up gingerly as his anger rose.

He was finished with Rosinante digging up Doffy's every old tick and habit and poison, some of which Vergo had spent nearly fourteen years burying. All the hallucinations, refusing to eat, bleeding all over the place like a wounded bird—this was not his king.

Doffy yanked his hands away, making Vergo blink.

"I've no fucking desire to sit down," he said, not bothering to shuck the gloves back off as he eyed the four of them, "I'm tired. My head's killing me. What do you want."

His voice got sharp and violent at the end. Brief apprehension flashed across Diamante and Pica's faces, and Vergo's frown deepened. Maybe they should wait again, after he made sure Doffy had slept—

Ugly laughter spilled forth into the silence. "All things gotta _hurt_ before they get better," Trebol said, slithering forward, "And you're about to get a _whooole_ lot better."

His arm shifted and out of the filthy recesses of his sleeve, he produced a dead-black folder. Diamante and Pica followed it with their eyes as if hypnotized, while Vergo twitched with annoyance. His bag was probably covered in Trebol's disgusting residue now.

"Ne, Doffy," said Trebol, lowly, "You know we're your family. You can tell us the truth."

He held the folder out. "Why Corazón ran away all those years ago...it did matter to you, didn't it? It's always mattered. Since the very beginning."

Narrow black typeface reflected in the gleaming tint of Doffy's shades. Trebol's lips curled to touch his eyes.

"And you're still afraid it was because he was done with you."

Marine Code 01746.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The symptoms of Amber Lead had varied between people in Flevance. Weight loss. Weight gain. Seizures. A writhing heat that gripped the body to the marrow and cooked it alive. He'd seen that one in Lammy. Teeth sunken into her even at the end, in the narrow cage of that linen closet he'd thought would protect her._

 _And it had found Law next, consuming his blood and muscles with fever, swallowing his consciousness into the nebulous underworld of its belly, where all the times and days had blended together into morass._

 _His father's blood seeped onto patient files as Flevance fell and the worn leather of his mother's favorite shoes peeled apart in the fires. He was hiding among corpses, suffocating in smog, before being picked out of the dark by hard, callused palms._

 _Two silhouettes peered at him, all marvelous and tall and gold._

" _Poor kid," one said, sadly, as they watched him shudder. The other tilted his head. "Suppose you'll come with us."_

 _They crouched down. Big, warm hands fell against his skin, resting along the sides of his temples. They lifted his head carefully, and Law squinted into these towering shadows, these idiots with their matching smiles that never touched their eyes and who'd forever changed the course of Law's life._

" _When are you gonna stop fighting?" he whispered, "I want to go home."_

 _They looked at him a very long time. Thumbs smeared the tarry soot off his face._

" _You have to live, brat."_

 _As if that was an answer that made sense. Or was any sort of answer at all._

* * *

xxx

* * *

The kid was insensate. Rosinante strained to hear every rasping breath as he battled the boat through the opposing tide. His small rib cage felt like a brittle nest of twigs against his chest, his head loose and his white-stained skin hot. A clotted trail of blood and bruising was vivid on his cheek and temple from where he'd been struck. He'd thrown up bile and his limbs spasmed and twitched occasionally, but he didn't wake.

The smell of encroaching death was lingering.

"Hold on, Law," Rosinante ground out and readjusted his grip on the oar handles. His palms had left slicks of blood on the wood, making them sticky and hard to move. The color was dark and resembled gore. He'd bashed the Barrels pirate hard enough to rupture something, it seemed.

Rosinante exhaled, and finally swiped his hands in the ocean to wash them off best he could, ignoring the numbing ache that flared through his body.

He shouldn't have beaten the man to that degree—time and energy wasted for an extra pinch of savagery. Wasn't merciful. Or logical.

Though he wasn't even sure at the moment if he actually gave a damn.

Rosinante could hardly remember what he'd been thinking—so godlessly angry at the sight of that tiny form lying all bloody and broken in the grass.

Like something had tried to climb into his skin and take his body for a ride. A blistering, inescapable fury.

Rosinante bit his lip and continued rowing. A cold bite was emerging in the air. The white of Minion's eternal winter peering through the eve.

How many men did Barrels have in his crew again? Seventy, eighty, he couldn't remember.

The southern coastline came into view and Rosinante scanned it for a more secluded area to pull ashore. But the beach was a long expansive rind, sloped with ice and frosted sand dunes. No cover at all.

He was about to rotate the oars and risk moving further along the island, when he caught sight of the cliff-head. It was narrow and jutted, a bluff sequestered from the rest of the shore and made of obsidian rock. Rosinante considered it, shifting Law gently to the crook of his left arm.

Then he pulled the boat over.

With his free hand, he picked up the bundle of rope that'd been packed into the dinghy, making sure the grappling hook was secured to the end.

In a hard swing, Rosinante tossed the rope towards the cliff-face, tugging down to catch the hook tight. Wind dragged through, breathlessly cold.

A random trickle of blood dripped from his nose. Rosinante blinked, wiping it on the back of his sleeve.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Law was moving. Or being moved anyway._

 _The curve of his lids twitched as he struggled and failed to open his eyes. His body felt like it was searing in a pan of hot oil, immobilizing pain shooting through him at each bump or jarring._

 _There was an arm wrapped around his body though, solid and heavy and warm. The weight hurt a little, but also made Law feel safe._

 _He smelled sweat and tobacco. Sea-soaked rocks. There was a grunt and curse, as something rough like a shoe sole skidded over gravel. Pebbly sounds tumbled a long way before plopping into water._

 _He was swirling under again. The sounds and smells pulling away._

 _Then he was on Spider Miles two and a half years ago, eye pressed up against the crack of the meeting room door._

 _Cora-san slammed out of the washroom, face paint washed off—wobbling and weaving and fumbling at the wall for balance. Doflamingo surfaced behind him, beyond unamused._

 _New Year's, Law remembered faintly, when Cora-san had returned from the port of Kapel. As was the manner of his luck, he'd tried to have a few past stitches removed and gotten injected with the latest batch of back-alley cocktails instead._

" _You're hopeless."_

 _Cora-san groaned, wiping at his slightly dribbling mouth. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He collapsed onto the sofa face-down, limbs strewn off the ends, feathers sliding off one shoulder. Doflamingo regarded him without expression. He was completely silent, but Cora-san's head turned eventually, one red eye glimmering from beneath his mop of hair._

" _It's gonna work its way out, Doffy. Was an accident."_

 _Doflamingo crossed his arms, brow pinched. "That you're aware of," he whispered and stalked for the exit._

 _He stopped a second later when Cora-san's hand flew out and snatched a corner of his coat. Went rigid as a plank, like he had stepped onto live wires._

 _Cora-san struggled onto his side. "Stop it."_

" _Stop what?"_

" _Whatever you're thinking."_

 _Doflamingo retracted the quarter of a step, offering the glimpse of a profile. "We all learn best by example."_

" _I'm not looking for payback."_

 _A faintly disgusted sigh. Doflamingo turned around fully. His lip curled. "You're honestly just like him, Rosi," he said, "Got a fool's eyes."_

 _A crease ran between Cora-san's brows. It took him a moment to reply._

"… _leave it alone. Alright? It's what I want."_

" _I'm not entirely convinced you know what you want," Doflamingo snapped, as if he had no plans on abiding, though Law recalled that he did relent in the end. They'd sail on past Kapel, as they would a number of towns and ports in those years, and leave it untouched._

 _Whether it's out of actual comprehension of this or simple exhaustion, Cora-san released Doflamingo's coat, his long hand flopping over the cushion, the nails dragging the ground. He shifted on his back, so he could glower at his brother properly._

" _And maybe you're a little too convinced that you do, ever thought of that?"_

 _There was a kernel of heat in it and a tense minute passed between them. Then Cora-san abruptly turned away, dragging a hand down his face and groaning once more._

" _Ugh, Doffy, I don't…" He shook his head. "Never mind, just go. You've shit to do, right? As your executives are always saying. Don't let me keep you."_

 _Doflamingo didn't move even an inch, glaring still. It didn't seem as if he knew why they were suddenly hurtling towards a fight either, but Law could tell he had more words in mind to say, more character traits to rant about. And despite himself, Cora-san seemed to be bracing for it, hand over his eyes and white-jawed._

 _He looked very tired and slightly nauseous, bearing semblance to a battered and stringless puppet._

 _Doflamingo's expression cooled into discomfort the longer he stared. And it drained away from there, step by step, until only a mist of confusion was left behind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His shoulders were stiff as boards._

" _Fine," he said and walked off._

 _Cora-san didn't respond, hand still concealing his eyes. It was barely visible, how his frame drooped into the sofa._

 _Must've been why he jumped so hard when the chair slid over a few seconds later._

" _Doffy?" He half-turned his head, bangs falling into his vision. "What're you doing?"_

 _Doflamingo folded down into the seat. "What does it look like."_

 _They stared at each other. Cora-san blinked once._

" _Like you're about to watch me trip balls for a few hours."_

" _Hm." Doflamingo leaned forward, elbows on thighs. "If I left you here alone, where the runts could find you, and you ended up...braining one of them or whatever, I'd be hearing you wail about it for months."_

 _Cora-san's mouth twitched a little. "Lock the door then."_

 _Doflamingo looked at him as if that'd been the stupidest suggestion ever made. He brushed the hair out of Cora-san's eyes. "Don't order me around."_

 _The room crimped and pleated at the corners. Law closed his eyes, dizzy. He fell._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Minion, like its two neighbors, had been abandoned by man.

Maybe more recently than Rubeck or Swallow, since the buildings had a more refined shape to them, lime mortar pounded into ashen walls of stone—a quarry town buried in white. Some of the ceilings of the huts had caved inwards and Rosinante was forced to kick open a number of doors, before he encountered one with a room and fireplace still intact.

Law sagged as Rosinante laid him down on the floor, wrapped up tight in the olive afghan. He cocooned him further in a long, furry cloak found draped over a twisted bed frame.

The kid had exhibited more signs of life since they'd stepped onto the island, a soft moan of pain when Rosinante had accidentally jostled him climbing over the cliff's edge, a trail of slurred words tumbling beneath his fevered and clouded breath.

Still unconscious though. Still shaking.

Rosinante hurried about the musty room, snapping apart chair legs and an old table to feed into the hearth. Almost set his own coat on fire too as he flicked his lighter impatiently.

It took a few tries before the timber caught and warm, bronze-yellow light glided down the walls. Rosinante sighed in relief as it washed down his front.

He debated tossing some additional chunks of furniture in to feed the fire further, before deciding he'd have to let it run a shorter course. Barrels had thankfully moved his camp, but they'd spot the chimney smoke if he left things burning long.

Even from here the mansion was visible—positioned a few miles apart and above the town, settled at the crest of a giant snow-buried incline. Rosinante strode to the window, peering upon the distant structure with a mild wince.

Being on Minion wasn't ideal at all, but he figured the original plan could still work. There was enough cover to avoid getting spotted if he climbed the long way and took a route through the trees surrounding the compound's rear.

Rosinante spent a couple minutes determining exactly which direction he should enter from, wishing for a map when he was reduced to eyeballing distances from a piss-poor vantage point. Once he was about as satisfied as he could get, Rosinante closed the rickety shutters to block out the frost-bitten breeze.

Then he walked back over to sit a moment and hold the boy.

Orange flamelets made dancing shadows of his small, slack face. His hat was crooked again. Rosinante fixed it gently and Law wheezed in his sleep, turning to bury his nose in Rosinante's stomach.

"Cora-san…" he whispered and breathed in deeply.

Rosinante almost snorted. "It's okay, Law," he said, patting the boy's head, "Won't hurt for much longer. I'm gonna get the Ope Ope for you."

There was no reply. Rosinante eased the child back onto the floor and doused the fire with a scoop of snow. The Nagi Nagi activated, enveloping him in a blue seal of silence. His nose started bleeding again too, what the hell? Weather must've been drier than it felt.

Rosinante swiped it clean, before threading his arms into the feathery tunnels of his coat.

The snow gave effortlessly beneath his feet once he stepped outside—that powdery sort Doffy had often chased him around in when they were children—his grin bright and pleased, as Rosinante's cheeks went ruddy with laughing.

 _A lot slipperier than it looks,_ his brother had said then too, hauling him up again after he'd gone pratfalling a third time, dusting his hair, clapping the flakes out of his shirt and pants. The sun had bathed the curve of his face.

 _Careful, Rosi._

Rosinante took a breath. He started running.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Law opened his eyes. Soft, spilling sunset had washed over the room in scarlets and creams._

 _A book was open in Doflamingo's hand now. He glanced at the clock._

" _Weren't you still on painkillers at Kapel?" There was a low moan. "No wonder the brat was so mad at you. Almost thought he was overreacting."_

" _Brat's mad at the whole wide world," Cora-san mumbled, "Keeps saying he's gonna die. Reminds me every day, like it doesn't matter. Like it's nothing."_

 _Doflamingo grunted, flipping another page in his book, though it didn't appear like he was reading a word. "So he doesn't want to hold his breath. Hope's cruel anyway. Just let him be."_

" _How can you say that?" Cora-san whispered, "'s only a kid. It isn't right."_

" _Lots of things aren't right," Doflamingo muttered and checked the clock a second time. His fingers flexed over the book cover. The ancient radiator gurgled and popped._

 _Cora-san stared at the tiles hazily, expression almost thoughtful. His words petered and clumped together._

" _Makes me sad you still feel that way."_

 _Doflamingo looked up, silent. Cora-san continued, "If you gave it a chance, if you tried to…just let go of what you had, maybe you'd be a little happier. Like they said."_

" _Oh? And how's that working for you, hm? Are you so much happier now?"_

" _Who cares about me."_

 _Doflamingo lowered his book, surprised. Cora-san's eyes were wandering the windows though. The ones in the meeting room were masked in narrow metal bars, a thin rag looped around the end which Baby had used to polish them until they shined._

" _What—"_

" _I'd like it a lot if you could make peace with what happened."_

 _A frown darkened Doflamingo's face._

" _I have made peace, Rosi," he said and shut his book with a hard snap, "They're not ever going to take us back. We won't belong there again."_

 _His hand swept the woolly air, swatting the thought aside like a gnat. "But that's fine. Let's see in the end just who will regret what. Did I ever tell you they laughed at me? First time I returned to those gates. Thought I was so absurd and funny. Do you suppose they'll still be laughing the next time they see me there too?"_

 _He snickered, a wicked rasp of a sound that would always stay lazily coiled at the back of Law's mind. Cora-san breathed out. His eyes shut and opened again, the corneas shot through with tangled blood veins._

" _It's not going to make you feel better. Revenge."_

" _Hm, don't knock it till you try it."_

" _He loved us, Doffy. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"_

 _Doflamingo shrugged coolly, though his grin fell by a ways, the sharp edges sandpapered down._

" _You don't get back what you chose to give up."_

 _Cora-san sighed once more. The drug had bleached his pallor and made it vague and gray. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and distress wrung Law's insides. He tried to walk in, but his legs wouldn't budge. They hadn't two and a half years ago, and they wouldn't now either._

 _Law was swept away._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Dangerous things wore red.

This was a strikingly vivid bit of adage for Diez Barrels, who recalled it best in the old fables and fishermen tales of his youth in the Marines. Even moreso now in the realm of lawless men and beasts.

Red was the flaring gills of a man-eating carp and the coral-shell hair of a siren in her cove. It was a snapshot crack of musket fire, the Devil's carriage galloping through the fog.

And it was the Ope Ope.

Barrels grinned as he lifted the chest lid and took out the fruit to admire again. It shined with such intensity that his eyes watered beholding it. Not even years buried in a moldy cave upon the most pathetic scab of an island he'd ever seen had diminished its glow. He'd almost thought it was an actual heart, still pumping and jumping, when the boys had hauled it aboard.

"They're really gonna cough up five billion, huh, Captain?" Big Chacko said around a mouthful of oil and gristle. The folds of his neck wobbled as he washed it down with rum. "Won't haveta be pirates anymore after that kinda payload."

"All over a Devil Fruit too," someone else added, "You made right idiots outta 'em."

There was a chortling chorus of agreement and Barrels leaned back in his chair, reveling in it. Now this was the type of respect the navy should've been affording him.

So what if he played a little rough in the field and hit the bottle too hard—that was chump change compared to the humiliating series of reprimands and demerits they'd done to his career. The looming threat of a dishonorable discharge that came piling over the horizon, all the while inferior little fucks advanced over himself.

If the higher-ups had _recognized_ his potential for what it'd been, then they wouldn't be short a good five billion beris now, would they? And to trade the fortune of several lifetimes just to save a couple more sops from croaking a few years earlier than their due was downright pointless. Sengoku was either far naiver than he thought or going utterly senile.

Barrels huffed, mood starting to sour again. He set the Ope Ope back into its chest before he could accidentally crush it and placed the chest at the foot of his throne.

"Dory!" he roared and the boy's shaggy head rose from behind a stack of crates, "Get us more drink."

A mute nod. The footsteps were uneven as the brat stumbled off, a limp in his gait. Couldn't even handle a measly kick. Barrels still wondered at times if the boy was his.

"Patrol group make it back yet?" he asked and the newest recruit turned in his seat, a Den Den Mushi in hand. Rag of greasy hair. The ferrety attention of a small rodent. Isaac's cousin, though Barrels couldn't recall the name.

"First one is still making a round through the woods. Haven't heard from Isaac or the others that went to Rubeck."

"Hmph. Buncha idiots probably got themselves lost."

Isaac's cousin chewed on a nail.

"It's a straight path though, Captain. Only eight-hundred meters." His eyes zipped to the window where Rubeck swirled on the horizon, resting where sky met sea. "…Could the marines have arrived early too? Isaac had been worrying about it. That fucking worm, Sid would run at the first sign."

Barrels snorted. "The marines get held up by bad skies, clear skies and their own damn paperwork. Won't be here till the day."

Another wave of laughs. Isaac's cousin looked around nervously—sand on the raw hide of Barrels' nerves.

"Quit fretting like some dame," he snapped, "This is a goddamn party."

The man wrung his hands. "Captain...what about the Donquixotes?"

A vicious hush slammed down. Big Chacko swallowed his next bite with a cringe. Barrels' lip curled immediately. "What about 'em?"

"He wanted the fruit too, didn't he? D...Doflamingo, that is." Isaac's cousin tripped over the name, like it was a black curse that was due its reverence. "Suppose he's figured out where we're at."

"How could he?" Barrels's arms crossed over his beefy chest. "You sayin' I can't outsmart some flouncy-lookin' blonde boy in a fucking pink coat?"

"No, Captain, I—"

"You mark my words on this," Barrels growled, a fat Y-shaped vein pulsating in and out of view upon his forehead, "Doflamingo really ain't _shit_. Everyone's so scared of 'im in these parts. Kingdoms, port towns, up and down the New World. All of you quakin' in your boots, when he's done nothing for years but go soft."

The looks he got scuttled towards uncertainty. Disbelief. Barrels sneered. It was true.

In the past few years, he'd picked up profitable trades that Doflamingo had suddenly given up. Locked into his fist even an entire hodgepodge of towns the bastard had released out of nowhere. There was a whole smattering of unclaimed morsels starting to crop up in North Blue and every crew within range was still pussy-footing around, anxious about stepping on his toes.

Well, Barrels was not afraid of fucking Doflamingo Donquixote. It agitated him something fierce that his crew had lingering thoughts to the contrary.

"Didn't he destroy that island though?" someone mumbled, "It was all over the news. That old one where the Ope Ope was buried. Fires raged for almost a week. Dead got piled into a mountain."

"He missed us by two days? Christ..."

"I once drank with a couple guys who escaped Rakesh. Some of 'em still get the shakes. That shit they said, about what he does to traitors..." Isaac's cousin shuddered. "Monster."

"Monster," the rest of the crew agreed.

Barrels slammed his palm onto the table hard enough to leave cracks. He jabbed a thumb at his chest, snarling at the flurry of startled looks which came his way.

"Monster?" he spat, "I'd crossed all four blues and Paradise, before he was even a _spark_ in his bitch-mother's eye. Battled giants and storms and sea kings. The blood of a hundred men was already drying on my hands. And when I first sailed the borders into Wano Country, Doflamingo was still tottering down a beachside on an _infant's_ legs!"

He slammed his hand down again, spittle flying as he thundered to his feet.

"SO IF ANYONE'S A MONSTER IN THESE FUCKING WAVES, IT'S _ME!_ "

The table crunched and collapsed. Dory, who had just been returning with four giant bottles of rum, yelped and jumped on reflex to cover his head. If he hadn't dropped those bottles, the glass shattering into a dripping rainbow array beneath the gas lamps, over the floor and chairs and Barrels' waist, then maybe he wouldn't have done what he did next.

It was what he'd tell himself at least, an hour or so after he'd calmed down. The brat had asked for it. What else could he be expecting?)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(" _You little bitch!_ "

The Barrels Pirates watched with vaguely detached pity as their captain yanked his son out by the hair. The boy yipped and whined like a newborn whelp, all his limbs petrified. He stared at them with white, flashing eyes and because they disliked it when he did that, they looked away. Dory would go quiet once Diez reached the courtyard anyway. Always did.

Big Chacko reached beneath his seat as the door slammed shut after them. He pulled out the three extra rum bottles he'd been hoarding.

For the next hour, the Barrels Pirates poured, gorged and gabbled incessantly, the thick noise used to drown out the vicious cursing from outside and the 'thwacks' of knuckles printing into flesh.

And so they were quite unprepared when the warehouse burst into that scarlet ravage of colors, staining the casements of the window bays.

All light smothered out, blackness devouring the room.

In the drink-addled frenzy, some of the Barrels Pirates swore they caught something long and lean dash through the muddle towards Diez's seat. A glowing pair of eyes that matched the shade of cinnabar and rust.

Big Chacko, who was closest, swung at it in a panic. The darkness tangled him up and he went crashing into the throne, sending it down in smithereens. The chest that'd been resting at the base rocketed skyward from the momentum and popped open.

They would never see the ruby Ope Ope go flying out though, snatched as it was mid-flight.

Some of the Barrels Pirates would feel next the blast of wintry air when the pane smashed open. They would see the small squat object flinging past the drapes which would be the end of Big Chacko and ten others.

But for all of them, whether they would survive that grenade or otherwise, it was the silence that would overshadow it all.

That vacuum constricting and distended. A void that'd consumed all the noises of the mansion so that every scene reeled out like black-and-white tape.

Nothing right about it, they would say, Nothing right.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

The heat of the compound behind him blazed the back of his legs, a jarring sensation against the astounding cold. Grease smoke and wreckage filled his nostrils and skull, but Rosinante didn't stop, Ope Ope pressed close to his breast.

The fruit was heavier than it looked. Bigger than he anticipated. Really did resemble a heart.

An overwhelming and irrational giddiness spread in Rosinante as he ran, the fruit clutched in his frozen fingers. He couldn't feel his face, but knew that it was split into a grin. The pulse of his blood was lodged somewhere beneath his collarbone and he felt the coarse winter jet through his lungs, oxygenating his veins.

He had it. The Ope Ope no Mi—the beginning and end of…of everything.

His cheeky brat was going to be okay.

 _I did it, Law._

 _I did it._

Small comforts that he got to have such a nice thought, before making it to the brim of that incline.

It was not the ground, waxy smooth from compacted snow, that would send his heel slip-sliding from underneath him, or the newly frozen sleet mounds that would hook up his feet. Rosinante had been watching his steps, being overly cautious. He remembered oddly, that the snow was far slipperier than it seemed.

It wasn't for lack of footing that he fell. In fact, he didn't know what it was in the end at all.

Just that he was pounding down the white trail as fast as he could, when his vision suddenly swarmed with black sparkles. His head went cold and light.

"Wha—" he gasped, just before his knees buckled like matchsticks and he went sprawling over his next step. He caught his brother again, just before the world spun into a cycle of pain and pigments, eight and exasperated in his mind's eye.

 _I told you to be careful, Rosi._

Then down he tumbled from the hill.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The room was darker. A shadowy ocean eddying with whirlpools of the moon. Cora-san's body was a lump on the sofa._

" _When'd you start drinking so hard?"_

" _I don't." Doflamingo shifted. "You're just dramatic, all of you."_

"' _nd that wine. What is that crap? I know you smell it too. Can't be partakin' for the taste…"_

 _His words were slurring. Cora-san's glazed eyes roamed the room almost boredly, like he held zero expectations_ _for an answer. For a moment, Doflamingo didn't look as if he'd have provided one likewise._

 _But then his chin lifted off his knuckles, features veiled in the night's gloom._

 _"I saw you, Rosi."_

 _Cora-san's eyes were quizzically wide. "Saw me? Where?"_

 _Doflamingo didn't respond. They watched each other, before he released a rough sigh._

 _"Everywhere. It was fucking terrible. I thought you were dead."_

" _Dead?" Cora-san struggled to lift his hand and gave a test poke of his own cheek, leaving a red mark behind. "'m not dead, Doffy." He angled his face, as if he thought his brother couldn't see the mark._

 _Doflamingo just crossed his arms and sucked on his teeth, all presumed nonchalance even as his hands were so tight against his biceps that the skin drew white and bone showed through._

" _Well, I suppose I didn't actually think you were. I told myself that a lot. I said it out loud. But I don't believe I ever managed to make that sale."_

 _His gaze upon Cora-san flickered like wildfire. As if he wanted to seize him by the collar—two bunches of magenta hearts. He didn't though and sat there breathing sharply instead._

" _You're mine, Rosi," he said, apropos of nothing._

 _Cora-san squinted at him. He cupped a hand over his mouth, all secretive._

" _Doffy," he said, "I can't feel my legs."_

 _Doflamingo was quiet._

* * *

xxx

* * *

He landed in a pile of snow. Almost directly on his face. And right into a group of Barrels Pirates scouting the perimeter of the town, ugh.

A mass of shouting and swearing lifted over his head as Rosinante tried to rise to his stinging knees, snow plopping off his shoulders and arms riddled with disturbing quakes. The Ope Ope was still gripped in his right hand and he took care to loosen his hold, worried about mangling it.

"What the?! Who is this guy? Where—"

"Just got word there was an invader at the compound! Half a wing fucking exploded!"

" _The hell_?! I didn't hear—aren't we downhill?"

Guns knocked and clattered. The needle-point of their muzzles leveled upon him. It was a pendulum of jackets and sideburns and mittens and bad teeth, swinging side to side. They were going to shoot him.

"Is that the Ope Ope?"

"You fuckin' thief!"

"Kill 'im! Kill 'im!"

Rosinante's left hand rose, fingers crooking. Blue threads peeled out of the night.

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Law opened his eyes, unsure when he'd shut them._

 _Doflamingo was walking back into the room, door shutting behind him. He'd dropped all pretenses of reading, mouth a straight and grim line as he studied his brother._

" _You look horrible."_

 _Cora-san shrugged. He replied with a slurred explication as to why he thought his brand of cigarettes was superior to Senor's, and a theory among the Family that Trebol was feeding his Venus fly-traps toxic waste. Doflamingo ignored him._

" _Pink and Lao caught another back-alley rat selling the same shit you got shot up with earlier," he said, "It works like sodium pentothal. Truth serum."_

" _Hmmmmm, well that's dandy."_

 _There was more silence. Muscles in Doflamingo's jaw relaxed and twinged again._

" _You make me tired, Rosi."_

 _Cora-san laughed so hard he almost jerked off the couch._

" _I make you tired?"_

 _He tried to struggle upright suddenly and failed._

" _You think you're a goddamn breeze to be around? Ever? Think I came back because you're so—so_ _ **energizing**_ _?"_

 _He laughed again and the lash of it made Law's eyes widen, his hand touching the door frame. Up until then, he had never heard Cora-san snap at his brother in a manner beyond sarcasm or annoyance. Maybe if he was in his right mind, he wouldn't have, but the chemicals had loosened his tongue, broke the dam inside that made things spill out like the meat of a ruined fruit._

 _Doflamingo looked unsurprised. He sat down in the chair, palms settling on his knees._

" _Then why did you?"_

 _Cora-san's eyes rolled to him. Doflamingo's nails pressed against the fabric of his trousers. His voice was unwaveringly blank._

" _Why did you come back?"_

* * *

xxx

* * *

He stood in a ring of bodies, strings slung broken and shiny from his fingertips.

Rosinante staggered through the trampled snow, black feathers shedding. The Ope Ope was fleshy and unblemished in the nest of his hand. He sucked in a breath and the sound of his inflated lungs fell into the cosmos, before vanishing, enfolded into the silence.

His vision returned. Whatever momentary ailment that'd assaulted him had meandered on and Minion was clear and cutting and moonless once again.

Rosinante trudged on towards the quarry town, blood plipping off his chin.

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Why?" Cora-san sighed, head lolling away. "What do you mean why? For you obviously."_

 _Doflamingo stared. Cora-san blinked at a water-stained ceiling. Not angry anymore. The fire was gone, sponged out in the bite between seconds. There was a breath, deep and wistful and long._

" _You," he said, "are my brother. And I had to come back."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

Marine Code 01746 lay fanned out upon the mutilated desktop.

Doflamingo stared at the documents, the reports, _Dellinger, Buffalo, Baby_. The words were waggling like little black beetles, jittering, glittering, stumpy appendages all misshapen. They weren't vanishing. Weren't blinking out of existence. Weren'tweren'tweren't…

"No, no…" He shook his head, stuttering out a laugh. "No, no, no, this is wrong. This is wrong."

Diamante said something nervously. Vergo surged into his vision, reaching forward.

"Doffy," he said, "are you—"

Doflamingo smacked him aside so hard that he flew backwards into Pica. Diamante flinched as if he'd been the one struck instead. Books crashed off the shelves. The sound was all strange, pebbles falling into a river far away.

He jabbed a finger at the papers. "Which one of you did this?" He laughed again. " _So_ elaborate."

They were staring. Vergo straightened up and the skin was strained around his glasses, like he wanted to try touching him again, but didn't dare. Silence hung in the cabin, fuzzy and condensing. Doflamingo's teeth appeared in a ravel of frosted, skeletal light.

"Who was it? Who made up this _fucking_ pile of lies?"

No one was speaking. Doflamingo's pupils shrunk. The floorboards shook with haki and a frightened noise finally spurted from Diamante, his eyes pale. " _Doffy, it was all_ —!"

"You know it's real."

Trebol leaned against his cane.

"He's a marine, Doffy. A traitor. A _rat_. Look at this, he called you a monster." His damp fingers splayed the documents apart, dragging down a ream of footnotes. They left tracks of slime. The vile squeal of them abraded his skull.

The ground began to dissolve again.

Doflamingo floundered. "No..."

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _Doffy," Cora-san whispered, "I was always gonna come back for you. No matter how far you went. No matter where you were trying to go."_

 _He grinned and it was so incredibly loopy, so unbearably honest._

 _"Always, you know?" he said, "Always."_

* * *

xxx

* * *

("He…came back for me," his poor master said, "I thought…I thought…"

Trebol nodded in sympathy. His palm moved again, sifting through the folder for his favorite little tidbit.

"Oh yes, Doffy, he came back for you alright."

A piece of notebook paper was tugged free. Trebol held it up tenderly. Summarized it for his king.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Says here…that you're sick, Doffy. That you're broken. He was gonna lock you up in Impel Down and forget about you. See these lists? The drugs, the bedlams, the shrinks. You know he wants them to pump you so full of drugs that you can't remember your own name. Let them poke their needles in your brain. He thinks you're mad. Thinks you're crazy."

Trebol flapped the paper.

"But you know you're not crazy. You're like us and we're not crazy, are we? Insolent of him. Traitorous. Mutinous _._ "

He slapped the note back onto the table. The patterns on his robe were gloppy aqua whorls, slowly opening mouths.

" _Doffy_ ," he said, louder, startling the other executives, "I would follow you to the ends of the realms! I would butcher and pillage and destroy this entire wretched planet at your bidding! You are meant to be...so much more than this. Destined for greatness..."

The ghost flowed over a bookcase, hair limp at the ears.

"...and maybe you don't quite see what I mean yet, but you _will_ be great _._ "

Its small hands were empty, flat against the wood.

"Just let go of your Corazon. Let him go, Doffy. _Let go_."

Rosi lifted his head and met his eyes. Doflamingo turned around, chest heaving, head buzzing and tight.

* * *

xxx

* * *

("It's not true, right?"

Vergo stiffened. Trebol's nearly fanatic smile slipped slightly, while Diamante and Pica blinked. They were all still a moment, before their gazes followed Doffy's to the empty bookcase. Hovered there, confused.

Doffy took a step towards it.

"You were forced by a rival crew. You were threatened and blackmailed. You came back because…" He trailed off, a vein pulsed insanely in his throat. "You're not a marine, Rosi. You're _not_."

"…Doffy?" Pica mumbled, expression almost slack with shock. Diamante's color had drained out of his face. "What…the fuck?"

Vergo whirled around for his bag and yanked it open. His jaw went taut a second later when he realized Caesar's wine bottles weren't there. He must've been so engrossed with packing all the documents up that he'd forgotten them on his boat.

"Answer me," Doffy raved, "answer me, answer me.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

But Rosi wouldn't. Only looked at him. All overflowing with words before and now fucking mute when it _counted_.

Vergo said something in an urgent tone. It was completely unintelligible to Doflamingo.

The ghost drifted from its perch on the shelf and walked quietly to the door. It touched the threshold and stared out into the hall, the back of its head towards him. A moment passed, before it vanished for the staircase.

Doflamingo didn't just watch it go this time. He charged out of the room without pause, veins wreathing down his temples. An icy weight rattled repeatedly against his torso.

The gun was digging into his skin. It knocked without mercy upon his bones.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He opened the hut door and peered into the dark. Law was where he'd left him, a small sleeping bundle hidden amongst cloak and blanket.

Rosinante stepped in, sinking to the floor and crouching over the child. His nose was still bleeding, spreading thickly down his throat and onto the floor. He'd given up trying to staunch the flow and just took care to keep from getting any on the boy.

"Law," he said, fingertips gentle on a fever-scorched cheek, "Wake up."

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Doflamingo never did speak or move in the end._

 _He was only visible at that point by the fringe of his hair, the wavering outline of his coat hanging over the chair's wing._

 _Yet somehow, Law still caught it—that small tilt at the corners of his mouth._

 _How relieved that smile had been._

 _How human._

 _Someday, Law would remember it again, out in the waking world—when he was getting peeled off another liquor-stickied table and was not remotely a child anymore. When there would be no more feathers or gold or big, warm hands for him to hold._

" _Law," a voice whispered, "Wake up."_


	28. vergo: furor

_**vergo: furor - "fury" or "madness"**_

* * *

 _Three days before he met Doffy in the North Blue, Vergo took another detour to Punk Hazard._

 _Through the tunneling halls, he strode past Block A, B and C, before entering the newly constructed Block D._

 _There, stepping into the purplish fogs, he sat down at Caesar's rusted work table and opened Marine Code 01746._

 _A mutated Den Den Mushi watched him from the tiles. Vergo reached over and dialed a number on its shell. When the line clicked on, the Den Den's mouth spread into an oily smile._

" _Well done, Vergo," Trebol said, and his laugh was a scrabbling rat-like sound._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Coincidentally, the entire family was on deck when their Young Master smashed down the ladder door.

Literally. Slammed it back so hard two of its hinges popped off like rubber bands and part of the frame split in half as well.

A collective start shot through the Family. Lao, Jora and Machvise dropped their cards and rocketed to their feet. Gladius almost lost his guns to the ocean.

"Young Master?!" They converged.

He didn't answer them. Wood chips spun in wild circles at his feet. A few fell off his shoulders. He was wearing a suit.

Vergo surfaced through the ruined doorway at a brisk pace. Diamante and Pica plodded at his heels, staring at the Young Master with some strand of bewildered horror. Trebol followed more slowly, expression a great deal milder.

"Doffy," Vergo said, "I need to go back to my boat."

No answer. Vergo didn't seem to be expecting one, since he spun around at random, and grabbed Senor Pink by his front.

"Do _not_ let him off," he said, and departed in such a rush that a threat wasn't even tacked on at the end. Senor Pink stared after him.

Across deck, Machvise and Gladius passed darting glances at each other. Lao G asked Diamante what the hell was going on.

Jora was the first to screw up the courage to move, hands held out carefully.

"Young Master," she said, "What's wrong?"

He looked over all their heads, breathing rapidly. His wan face was almost shiny with sweat, gaze fixed upon a stack of crates at the bow.

"Everything," he murmured and pushed past her, walking towards the bow.

"Stop running from me," he said to absolutely nothing, "I'm sick of it."

And his course was dogged and without pause, a crazed but irreverent line, as if he intended to follow whatever he was seeing straight into the sea.

They dove at him, grappling for his arms and torso. In hindsight, he'd been gentle with them.

But they would keep hold anyway for approximately twenty-seven minutes, almost twenty-eight when the Barrels pirates came running down from the hills.

Something to be proud of at least.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The first thing Vergo pulled out was a piece of notebook paper, jammed full with Rosinante's neat and slanted script. Doctors, institutions, medications, shrinks—that same gruesome little list to be held eventually before the face of their pale and distraught king._

 _But that was later of course._

 _At the moment, it had a cover sheet._

 _Vergo flipped to it, scanning the contents. From an objective point of view, he was almost impressed._

 _The Government's rehabilitation system was a universally shoddy thing, and yet every crook, scandal and dubious concoction seemed to be listed on here. The entire thing must've taken Rosinante years to compile._

 _He'd left a note at the bottom, saying that he wanted these people far away from Doffy. That he wouldn't let anyone try to exploit him for a tell-all book or a drop of fame._

Never, _Rosinante had written simply._

" _Behe, that first page is unnecessary," Trebol said, and Vergo peeled the cover sheet out of the file and incinerated it in a ball of fire._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(They were on Minion Island.

Law sat up against the cabin wall, vision sleep-muddled as Cora-san held the Ope Ope out to him.

"Go ahead, Law," he said and nudged the thing fully into his hands. His face was curtained in the shadows, his voice hoarse and exhausted, but eager.

The fruit was brilliantly red, with ridges like the spines of old books. It had the heady scent of power sizzling beneath its skin and it sure carried the forbearance of a cure then. All magical and rare and being fought over by powerful people.

Law's stomach squeezed in sudden disgust. The fruit repelled him at that moment. Its appearance, its existence. The notion of needing something that had ruined his home and ruined his family. Almost before he could process it himself, he had shoved the fruit back into Cora-san's hand.

"I don't want it," he said, "The marines can have it."

They weren't supposed to be on this island.

For a few seconds, everything was still, Cora-san's gaze half-stunned. Law crossed his arms and stared hard into a cobwebbed corner of the room. Then Cora-san sighed a slow, bone-tired sigh.

"Kid. Please just eat the damn thing."

"No, I don't want to be a Devil Fruit user yet."

"We can't always have what we want."

He shook his head again and Cora-san groaned, a note of frustration heading into anger.

"I _will_ cram it down your throat, brat—"

"That's why you started fighting."

Cora-san stilled.

"...What are you talking about?"

Law pointed at the Ope Ope.

"That's why we left. Because of that thing, right?" He looked up. "Because I'm sick and part of the clan of D. Everything's this way now because of me."

His voice may have wobbled a little at the end. A hot sharpness slid across the back of his eyes, rimming the bottom of his vision. Cora-san set the Ope Ope on the ground.

"Law," he said, "come here."

He wasn't going to, but then Cora-san held out his hand and he did just a little.

"Why do we keep running?" he asked as the hand settled on his shoulder, "Aren't we going back?"

"I told you, once I get you somewhere safer, I'll go check on him."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

Cora-san didn't reply. There was such a long pause that it dragged over them like an airtight quilt, scratchy and stifling and uncomfortable. Eventually though, his crimson gaze slid away.

"No, we're not going back."

Law's gaze lowered to the ground. His heart fell, but deep down he was unsurprised.

"I think he planted Rubeck for you."

"...Kid—"

"He did," Law said, insistent, "Didn't you like it?"

"It was beautiful," Cora-san agreed softly, "But it's not that simple."

"Why not?"

No response.

Law glared at the wood grain. In his mind's eye, Doflamingo ghosted insistently, loose feathers and a smile as he took him down a local bazaar and lifted him onto the stool at a book stand. _Ship's gotta restock, boy, help me pick out some good ones…_

His mouth crumpled.

"Why isn't it simple?" he said, "Are you just gonna stay mad forever?"

"I'm not mad anymore, Law."

He looked up. A snowy gust swung at the hut, tearing groans from the roof and paneling. Cora-san rested heavily against the wall.

"I'll tell you a secret about us," he said, there in the dark.

Law blinked. Cora-san swayed oddly. His free hand splayed out, palm flat against the floor for balance.

"A long time ago," he said, "back when we were very young, our mother told us that we were born as a matching set. She said that we belonged together and had no higher priority in life beyond each other. Our family wasn't...popular in these parts. A debtors bloodline in a way. She was only worried, I suppose, about what would become of us."

Cora-san sighed. "But thinking on it now, with how we grew up and the way things had been, what she said then probably massively screwed us up."

He stopped a second, shifting once more. There was a faint plipping sound, like a droplet against wood.

"Anyway, for several years, we were so inseparable that it'd defy imagination." His shadow shrugged limply. "I won't paint him in shining light for you, because that wouldn't be true. His problems were still there even then, right from the beginning. But he was what I had, you know? And he offered me everything he could. He tried so _hard_ , and he took our mother's words to heart and I...I suppose in the end, I'm the one who didn't."

A slurred laugh.

"He was the best fucking thing in the whole wide world and now he's gone and it's my own fault. So I'm not mad anymore, kid. At anyone. That he slaughters innocent people in droves. That I'm just the job he thinks about whenever it suits him now."

His chest moved, something so full of grief it rattled.

"I traded away my brother and I'll never get to have him back and the thought of that is…it hurts so much sometimes I can't breathe. So I can't go back, Law. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Cora-san," Law said, voice small. His palm laid over Cora-san's hand, covering calloused knuckles. He bent down and picked the Ope Ope back up. "'s okay. Don't be sorry anymore."

Cora-san was silent.

"I don't want you to ever think again that it was because of you," he said, "This was always going to happen. We never did run smooth."

Law bit his lip.

He nodded, even though he remembered those days when the two of them would sit on the bench and watch the moon. When they leaned over his head in the lounge and harassed him to go outside, or took turns listening to Baby ramble about the pictures she'd drawn.

He remembered how they could move like a unit, trade clothes for days and hide it from everyone. They pissed each other off and made each other happy and had always been simply two halves of one whole. If that'd been a job, it'd been one in name alone.

 _But you did run smooth,_ Law thought. Quietly, and only to himself.

Then patting the hand again beneath his palm, he bit into the devil fruit.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Rosinante had had plans. For Doffy. For even the Family as the years went by._

 _He'd been preparing a case for Pink to be expunged after release for the sake of his wife and child. Another one for Jora to be allowed some information on Dellinger's whereabouts. He wanted to make sure Buffalo was connected with his remaining relatives and that Baby Five would find the best and kindest of homes._

 _There was deep honesty threaded through every word, flooding every phrase. He meant it so much that Vergo's flesh crawled._

 _Insufferable, weak-hearted Rosinante._

" _Unnecessary," Trebol said and seven more pages went up in flames._

 _The stench hung foul and acrid in the room. Caesar floated over to complain. He scuttled off again quickly with the look Vergo sent him._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(At half past ten, Tsuru stepped onto the quarterdeck, setting two handheld Den Den Mushis on the railing. Their shell lights were off and the eyes still shut, so she stood back to wait.

In the starry horizon, the shapes of Rubeck and Swallow were just discernible. One lovely shadow. One slumbering bird. The crouched profile of the final sibling, Minion, peered back at the ship with a cool gaze.

Strange to say, but the prolonged stay at Vale had been fortunate in a sense. Dispatch from the Archipelago required so much hoop-jumping that an entire day could be wasted in delays.

Tsuru's current guess was that Sengoku wouldn't even be close for at least another few hours, given the sheer marvel he'd been permitted to leave at all. She winced at what repercussions could await him when the Gorosei learned the news. A lost negotiation of five-billion beris with a deserter, diverting mass-scale naval resources to a far away sea—they were certainly not some of the best calls Sengoku had ever made.

Though she supposed, at the heart of it, none of this was really about the Ope Ope anymore anyway.

One of the Den Den Mushis started to ring. Its bulbous sockets opened and Lieutenant Mio's eyes appeared in them.

"Vice Admiral."

Tsuru glanced at the other snail, which connected to the accompanying Captain Hoshi. It remained still and so she nodded at her lieutenant, returning her gaze to Minion. "How does it look?"

"You were right, ma'am, Barrels is already here. His crew's grown by about twenty men. Maybe a total of seventy members now. They've established base at a compound on one of the bigger hills. We're seeing smoke too. Something must have happened up there."

"Smoke?" Tsuru didn't bother attempting to investigate through the binoculars. Despite the dense starlight, the distance was too far. "Were you spotted?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good, standby for now."

Mio nodded. A moment passed, before hesitation rose over the snail's face. "...Do you really think Doflamingo will try and ambush the deal?"

Tsuru pursed her lips. "It's possible." The suspicion had even been sitting in her mind for quite some time now. "Presumably, his web has grown rather wide."

"Wouldn't make sense with our numbers though. And with the Fleet Admiral himself."

Tsuru leaned against the rail, arms folded. "Sensibility may not be playing as big of a role as you'd believe."

Even half a year later, her memory of Doflamingo in Vale was razor clear, there on the foggy waters beyond the quay. Had there been a time the boy had sounded more infuriated? Like he was going to claw open the world in search of his brother.

It had startled her speechless for the first time in decades. Someone like Doflamingo in a state that desperate did not bode well for any of them.

"If he does appear, Mio," she said, "you and your team are to retreat."

The girl attempted to protest, but Tsuru shook her head.

"You are young and untrained. _Doflamingo_ is young and untrained. Spare yourselves the risk of facing raw Emperor's Haki."

"It's just a bit of pain, ma'am. A bad headache for a few days. We can handle it."

"No," Tsuru said, sharpening, "You've seen the studies, girl. The long term effects can be far worse. Know the difference between being brave and being daft."

The Den Den Mushi drooped. "My apologies, Vice Admiral."

"If he decides to appear, you will retreat. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the lieutenant, "Understood.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The Ope Ope had been glossy and smooth and beautiful and tasted like the shit-caked bottom of a wagon wheel.

"You could've warned me!" Law said, half-gagging again as he wiped his mouth. He made a point of trying to kick Cora-san's knee as the man stifled his snort.

"I didn't know you were just gonna bite into it," Cora-san defended, and Law rolled his eyes.

The man probably deserved a prize for how fast he'd flipped from saddest puppy alive to annoying, snickering idiot, but Law supposed he could live with it.

"Well, I ate the stupid thing," he mumbled, gaze sliding up at the silhouette, "...Are you still sad?"

The tilt of a smile gleamed at him. Cora-san's hand wrapped around his back, tracing a fond line with his thumb.

"You've become such a good kid."

Law's cheeks warmed. "Shut up, Cora-san."

"I'm really proud of you."

"Shut _up_."

"Feels like just yesterday you were trying to stab me to death with a toothbrush."

"It was a shiv," Law corrected, instant, before groaning at his own nonsense.

He thumped his forehead on Cora-san's thigh and a soft laugh rang above him. It sounded different than before. There was another pull of breath, rough with discomfort.

Law sat up again. Cora-san had been breathing like that for a while now. He opened his mouth to comment, before Cora-san spoke first.

"How about I take you around the world?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"You want to see it, don't you?" Cora-san said, teetering, the shadow of him struggling to adjust against the wall, "It's much more than North Blue and that skinny strip of the Grand Line. There's East and South Blue, Paradise, the Yarukiman Grove."

"Zunesha," Law added blankly, "The sky islands."

Cora-san hummed, a small sad sound. His speech dragged slightly. "Anything's possible. What do you say?"

Excitement and fear co-mingled. The two of them to the greater, wider world. Law was too ready. He wasn't ready at all. His hands curled against Cora-san's knee.

"We're gonna use a map this time."

"Ha, speak for yourself, kid."

"And we _are_ going together," he said, part to confirm, part to demand, "You're coming with me."

A pause.

"I'm always with you, Law."

Law's mouth curved, the feathery beginnings of a grin. He reached to touch Cora-san's hand which was still on his back, before it suddenly went slack and slid off. Cora-san lifted from the wall, swaying like he was about to heave himself upright. His breaths were shuddery and painful.

"Although…" he croaked, "being honest here, you might have to...just gimme a minute first."

And then crumpled into a heap on his side. Law rocketed to his feet.

"Cora-san?!"

He rushed to turn the man over, which was about as feasible as turning over the base of a brick wall. Yet somehow, under the rapid clamor of adrenaline (because Cora-san was too still so still notmoving _silent_ ), Law managed it.

His body landed on its back with a heavy 'thwump.' Cora-san's face pulled out of the shadows.

And there was blood.

Dried and fresh, crusted burgundy and gleaming copper. They'd made roads out of Cora-san's features. His cheekbones, his temples, horizontal trickles that reached his ears, vertical ones past his mouth and chin. His shirt collar was stained, the tips of his hair rust-eaten gold.

 _Where's it coming from?_ Law thought vaguely. Or maybe he said it out loud. He wasn't sure which and then it didn't matter, because he wasn't thinking about anything anymore except that the bleeding needed to stop.

Cora-san groaned to life again as Law tore the afghan into strips. His eyes fluttered open, glassy as water.

"What happened?" Law half-shouted, "Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

"'M not." Cora-san blinked slowly. He stared at Law, before raising a hand to the hemorrhaging mess of his face.

"Oh." His voice was almost airy. "Dry weather, you know."

And then his eyes rolled up and he went limp.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _For the first five years, Rosinante had written letters to Doffy._

 _The messages were short and disjointed—the private, pocket-sized ramblings of a child. It was a limited bundle, stopping altogether after the year Rosinante enlisted. Sengoku must've confiscated the letters eventually and gave him a talk._

 _Vergo read through them all, mood steadily darkening._

Sengoku-san keeps telling me, _one in particular said,_ that I should forget about you now. Because you're a bad person, whose done terrible things. And that there'd been a very big difference between what I'd meant to you and what you had meant to me.

But I don't believe him, Doffy. I don't.

I hope you're okay. I miss you. I tried to wait, I wanted to come back, I didn't mean to…

 _Words had been scribbled out. Re-written and scribbled out._

I think I saw that bird again today.

" _What bird?" Trebol said, snorting, and Vergo didn't look at him. Rank fury had made a haze of the room and blotched it out._

 _He threw the entire stack of letters into the fire without waiting for Trebol's judgment._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(According to Vergo, the master had been seeing things.

Trebol mulled the thought over, as the Family members struggled to keep Doflamingo on board. Lao G and Jora each had an arm, Gladius dragging on the back of his coat. Machvise and Pink were trying to persuade him to stay put, one in babbling alarm, the other in a calmer, though no more successful tone.

"What the _fuck,_ " Diamante said again, like he'd lost all grasp on other language.

Pica's gaze was unnerved. "I remember him being a little strange years ago too, just before Corazón came back," he said, and turned at Trebol, "Shouldn't have stirred the pot, you and Vergo."

Trebol huffed. He took some affront to being included in Vergo's one-track, envy-fuelled campaign to obliterate Corazón in the most horrific way possible.

"Ehh? If you recall, I planned to take this slow."

"Who cares what you planned?" Diamante said, voice forced into a hiss, "You know we were perfectly fine with staying in North Blue. We've basically been ruling the place for years anyway. But _you_ just kept obsessing for more, how he had to be a warlord and he had to be a king and you got Vergo all hyped up on your destiny bullshit too, and now look where we are."

"Where?" Trebol said, "I'm about to win."

They stared.

"Are you looking at him?" Diamante said, "He needed Corazón."

Pica's eyes slid across deck again. His giant knuckles cracked in agreement.

"Behehe, like he needed cancer," Trebol spat, "You think Corazón was gonna let us play North Blue forever anyway? If it weren't for their fight, we'd probably all be heading for Impel Down by now."

"Not Doffy," Pica said, beneath the Family's rambling chaos, ("Nothing's there, Young Master. Look, there's _nothing_ there.") "Looks like he's dying."

"He's _emerging_ ," Trebol corrected, "Don't you see our king is finally here?"

" _What_ are you talking about?" Diamante said.

Trebol ignored them.

It was the Family's fault as much as it was Corazón's, when he thought about it. They let Doffy go astray, let his brother lure him off the path. None of them understood what he was meant to be, so attached were they to what he was now. The Young Master. The Captain. All their undying, worthless devotion to these handful of shards when something so much greater loomed in the abyss.

Blind idiots, this entire crew. _Idiots._

It would all be back in line once Doffy finally buried Corazón. That was a hunt Trebol couldn't _wait_ for.

Shouting erupted over the white-capped hills.

The whole deck stilled. It was impressive they managed to catch it over all the ruckus they'd been making themselves. Heads swiveled towards the empty shore.

Inky runnels of smoke burrowed through the stars. Unseen voices were discernible in the distance. Faint, but panicked.

Trebol inched forward. There was an anxious whisper by Machvise about marines.

But it wouldn't be marines, as they'd come to realize when the noise grew closer, enough for words to grow decipherable.

And then if Trebol had ever been skeptical of Fate before, he certainly wouldn't be anymore.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

" _After him!"_

Gladius and Jora turned their heads up at him, bewildered and automatic for instruction. "Young Master?"

More shouting, words jumbling over each other. The Barrels homebase had been attacked. It was on fire. An intruder was after the Ope Ope. No, had taken the Ope Ope by force.

Someone was on Minion Island.

" _After him!"_ The Barrels Pirates were yelling. Their disembodied chorus tore through the wintry dark, squeezing his skull like a vice.

"The Ope Ope's gone?" Gladius said, "Who the hell—"

There was a quiet shuffling at the bow. Rosi vanished from the crates.

Now he stood on the northern coastline, a tiny ragged dot in the white sand. He looked up at Doflamingo, inscrutable.

 _After him after him_

 _run run run_

Someone was on Minion Island.

He turned and floated down the trail.

Doflamingo's pupils were specks of fractal blue.

"Get off me," he whispered.

The Family started to protest. Haki streaked through the deck, ripping open floorboards. Nails twisted into corkscrews.

" _Now!"_

They dropped him like a piece of hot coal.

Doflamingo leapt into the sky.

"He's here, Doffy!" Trebol shouted, voice cutting after him like a talon, "Stolen the fruit, just like he stole the brats! Passed them along to the marines _right from under you!_ Time to stop pretending! Stop lying to yourself! He came back to _end_ you and you've always known that to be true! Admit it, Doffy, you _knew!_ "

The stars grinned in the reflection of his shades. They laughed at him.

 _Fool,_ they sang, _fool, fool, fool..._

* * *

xxx

* * *

Rosinante was drifting. He was back in that milky-white sea—shapeless and sifting and oppressively sweet.

His brother was in front of him. Another black cut was on his left cheek, just beneath the bone, the skin folded oddly around the wound's edges. It was jagged and messy, matching the one on his forehead.

"So you've really decided. You're not coming back."

The clouds rippled around their legs. "We were finished a long time ago," Rosinante said quietly.

"You're taking the boy." It was without malice. Rosinante's muscles coiled up anyway.

"I'm taking the boy."

"So protective." Doffy cocked his head, a blue disc over the curve of his frames. "You're happy when you're with him."

Rosinante blinked. "Of course."

"...Do you believe I don't want you to be happy, Rosi?"

The sea rumbled, creasing up like the rain-drenched sheets their mother would hang on a bent of wire. Somewhere beneath the pooling layers, a voice was calling. _Cora-san? Cora-san!_

Rosinante started, head turning left and right. "Law?"

Doffy chuckled. "Poor kid is so attached." His hands slipped behind his back. "I know you're tired, Rosi. But I think it'll be over soon. And then you can rest."

Rosinante twisted around. "What?"

"For now though, best to keep going."

"I'm not—"

"Still making children fret over you." Doffy shook his head, a resigned 'tsk' between his teeth like they were eight and six again and Rosinante had forgotten the water pail.

"Hopeless."

There was a flash and the sea glowed so white it blinded him.

Then the musty, hardwood floor of the cabin was beneath his spine. Then he was in Minion's quarry town with little Law Trafalgar hovering over him, face more ashen than a crescent moon.

Rosinante squinted. A stuttering crackle was in his head and he already couldn't remember what had happened. Pain was shooting out from his chest in wayward bursts. He forced it aside, looking up at the child's bleach-spotted face. Had the fruit not worked? He lifted a trembling hand to touch Law's forehead, before managing a raspy breath of awe.

"Your fever's gone."

Law took his hand and placed it gently back on the ground. He shifted his hold on something and Rosinante realized belatedly that his face had been cleaned up and his nose had stopped bleeding. A damp cloth was pressed over the bridge, soothing and numb, as if it'd been soaked in melted snow.

"When did the nosebleed start?" Law asked, "It shouldn't be this intense just because of some dry weather."

Rosinante tried to reach up and at least hold the cloth himself. Law pushed him down again with more pronounced insistence.

"You need to answer me, Cora-san," he said, expression firm, eyes dancing-full with fear.

It was upsetting and so Rosinante tried to pull himself together, tried to shuffle through the past twenty-four hours even as they scattered before him in increasingly burnt snapshots.

Rubeck. He'd killed someone. Barrels' mansion. Falling from a hill. The Nagi Nagi's blue sphere bursting into a bundle of blue strings. He'd blacked out.

"Around...when we got to Minion, I think."

"How long ago was that?" Worry slipped through Law's voice. Rosinante shifted his head gingerly. His vision was clearing a little more, though it remained black and sparkly at the perimeters.

"'bout an hour."

Law's eyes widened. "Has this ever happened before?"

Had it? Rosinante couldn't remember. He honestly didn't have the energy to wade any further into the past. Though it was kinda adorable how serious Law sounded when he asked these questions. Like a real little doctor. Rosinante hoped he would open that clinic one day.

He felt so heavy. The pain in his chest had dispersed into discomfort and had radiated north towards his neck. It didn't seem like a migraine. Doffy had described to him once that those had more of a stabbing pressure, instead of a stiff one.

They were...probably never going to see each other again. Truly this time.

And while he really did want to return and check on his brother, Rosinante doubted it'd be feasible by then, with the whole Family after his head. He'd been considering a letter, like the unsent ones he'd written as a child. Maybe bribe a news coos into delivering it.

If he owed Doffy anything, it was a real goodbye. Rosinante wanted to tell him that he _had_ seen Rubeck. That he would always hope for his brother to find peace one day. And if there'd been a way for him to go back to that moment all those years ago, he would have never...

A weight landed on top of him. Rosinante's gaze slid down and the side of Law's fur hat crowded into his vision. Oh, he'd never answered the kid's question had he? Though Law seemed too preoccupied now, ear pressed close to Rosinante's chest.

"Your heart sounds off," he said, a whisper.

Rosinante contemplated that for a weary moment.

"Huh," he slurred, "'M okay."

"No, you're not!" Law's voice was slightly higher than usual. "I told you to stop smoking so much. Why didn't you listen?" He scrambled to his feet. "You need a hospital. I'm going to get help."

Rosinante's dragging lids snapped open again. "What?" He struggled into a sitting position this time with a grunt of effort, despite the child's protests for him to stay down. "No, the Barrels crew's searching for me by now."

"I can get around them."

A wince. "You're still pretty fragile, Law—"

"I don't care! There's something wrong with your heart!"

Rosinante shushed him quickly. "Calm down. Someone could hear us. Listen—no, kid, listen to me. I'm fine. Just probably...tired is all. I haven't used my devil fruit in a long time, I think I pushed myself too hard."

Simple exhaustion, that had to be it. It made even more sense when Rosinante said it out loud. The Donquixote lineage was marked for robust health and good genes. He was tough on his body sometimes, fine, but for anything to actually be wrong was crazy to imagine.

Not that the kid seemed to agree.

"You haven't been eating, you aren't breathing well and you were just gushing blood like a fountain." He was rushing towards the door. "Doesn't matter if it's nothing. You're still going to a hospital."

"Law, wait," Rosinante began, before stopping with a sigh. He recognized a lost battle for what it was. "Where are you even thinking of going then? The triangle's abandoned."

"Inland," the kid replied, prompt, "where the marines are."

It was said so matter-of-factly that the words almost didn't compute to Rosinante.

"What marines?"

"I saw them earlier when I was getting ice. They were on the trail towards the mansion." Law paused a moment. "It was that girl from a year ago. The one that'd been with the older lady you both called 'Tsuru-san.'"

Lieutenant Mio.

Rosinante let that sink in, faintly annoyed with himself. He'd gotten to the triangle ahead of the arranged deal date, specifically because he'd wanted the element of surprise. Why hadn't it occurred to him that someone like the Vice Admiral would've long thought the same thing? He wasn't exactly the most eager to see her.

What if she made him call Sengoku-san? Rosinante only had the barest skeleton of a farewell composed. Some patchwork of gratitude and apology. _You were right about my brother and it kills me that you were and I can't face you because of it, and so I had to go._

Something like that.

"You need help, Cora-san," Law said again, adamantly, as if reading his thoughts. His hands were small fists at his sides. "She'll help us, won't she?"

A peculiar light was in the child's expression. Rosinante didn't have time to stammer out a lie about how he had no idea, because Law turned away without waiting for one. "I know she will."

And then the knob turned and the door creaked open. A crooning breeze slid over the entryway, reaching in to caress his hair. Rosinante's legs wouldn't keep steady long enough to rise and so he finally relented with a measure of distress.

"Be careful, Law," he said, "Okay?"

The child was already out the door. "You're not allowed to die," he said, a whisper that was almost to himself, "I swear, I _swear_ I'll hate you forever."

And he raced into the shroud of stars.

* * *

xxx

* * *

( _Purupurupuru...purupurupuru..._

Lieutenant Mio halted in her trek up the snowy incline, gesturing for her team below to wait. The light of her Den Den Mushi had started flashing. A moment of stark relief coursed through Mio when the name appeared on the shell and she flipped the switch for an open third line.

"Hoshi's calling in, ma'am."

The snail nodded, eyes narrowed. The Vice Admiral had sent Captain Hoshi to the southern coastline, an open beach that was a straight route from Minion to Rubeck.

He had missed his report time by a considerable length and in a place so infested with pirates and the looming possibility of a Family appearance, Mio did admit the situation felt a little perched on its toes. Something in the air waiting. She was glad he'd finally called in.

The Vice Admiral must've thought so too, because she didn't sound half as stern as she usually would've been when the call connected.

"It's about time, Captain."

"Apologies, ma'am," Hoshi's voice came through, frazzled, a hint perplexed, "We were, uh...well, we were surveying the area as ordered and...came across a deserter."

Mio blinked, unsure she heard right. The Vice Admiral's brow quirked. "Deserter? Of Barrels' crew?"

"Seems so. Said his name was Sid. Bastard's a complete wreck. Practically begged us to arrest him. Rowed all the way here from Rubeck."

"What?" the Vice Admiral sounded surprised and Mio swiveled automatically towards the sloshing black sea, squinting into the distance at Rubeck.

Hoshi sighed, scratching his head. "Yeah, he's not making much sense. Says there's a demon or something on that island. Killed two of his crewmates, I—"

Swears and clatter cut him off. Mio's brow arched at the sound of Hoshi's squad yelling. She was about to ask if he required more backup, when a stranger's voice fizzled across the line, the speaker piece rattling as if it'd been swiped away.

"Get me off of this rock," it said, "Get me out of this place!" The fear in the voice was almost tangible, rippling through the line in an icy current that summoned the gooseflesh across Mio's skin.

"Hey!" Hoshi roared, scrabbling in the background, "Scum-sucker, give that back!"

"He's coming here," the deserter moaned, "I saw him take a boat. Diez got the wrong man pissed at him and now he'll butcher 'em all."

"You came from Rubeck?" Vice Admiral Tsuru asked simply. Only years of service clued Mio in on the subtle alarm in her tone.

Confused, she groped for the smattering of details she recalled of the island.

It was older than Swallow and Minion. Had been nothing but parched ruins for several decades, before a recent and baffling revitalization. Still uninhabited. Still quiet.

There was something else though too, picking at the back of her mind. Some final tidbit that she'd forgotten. Mio's thoughts did another confounded loop, before it finally struck her.

Eleven years ago, Rubeck had also become a base for the Donquixote Family.

"I saw him," Sid the deserter said, "beneath a willow. The Heavenly Demon! He's on his way!"

Mio's pulse thudded. Despite all previous bravado, her body went cold.

"Do you even know what you saw, boy?" the Vice Admiral asked, deathly calm, "I don't tolerate mistakes of this kind."

There was instant retorting from over the line. Descriptions were given of the figure on Rubeck—golden hair, a towering height and strings that wound off his fingertips like the heads of a thousand snakes.

The Vice Admiral may have asked more questions. Mio hardly processed them. She didn't need any more clarification.

Doflamingo was coming to Minion Island. Maybe he was here already.

Vice Admiral Tsuru gave a hard sigh. It was troubled down to its core. She ordered Hoshi to bring the deserter back to the ship at once.

"And you, Lieutenant," she said, "as we discussed."

The Den Den's eyes shifted to her and Mio gave a hasty nod. She waved at her team, who began hurrying back to the boats.

The oars sliced into the waters and they pushed off of Minion's shore.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The Den Den inched closer while Vergo flipped through the apartment clippings. Unconnected with the navy. Large enough for two people. Somewhere far away._

" _Behehe, how sweet and delusional."_

 _Vergo stared at the photographs. All the buildings had open balconies and skylights. A clean, fierce horizon carrying the moon. Doffy would've enjoyed it, he knew._

 _Yet the more he took in, the angrier he became. Everything he'd seen so far had made him angry. Vergo did not understand why._

" _Well, it's selfish, isn't it?" Trebol answered, "If he really did love Doffy, if he truly cared as much as he claimed, then he wouldn't have ran that first time. No matter what you'd said to him."_

 _Vergo looked at the Den Den Mushi. "What I said? You told me to say those things."_

" _Behe, it's what you felt anyway, don't deny. And we were right, weren't we? He ran. This is only fair."_

 _Vergo considered that, recalling that moment he'd stepped in front of that thin, shivering form. Rosinante had been eight years old and alone and traumatized. Had that been fair? Maybe if he'd really put his eyes to the question, the answer would have been obvious._

 _As it was though, Vergo hadn't been especially looking._

" _Why'd he come back then?"_

 _Trebol laughed. "'Cos he regretted it obviously. But it's too late. You give something up, you don't get to have it back. Bothersome fool should've just accepted it." The Den Den leered. "What are you waiting for?"_

 _Vergo turned toward the fire and dumped in the clippings._

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The marines were gone.

Law hurried up the incline, climbing all the way to the start of the woods leading to the mansion. Smoke and shouting echoed from there and he hesitated from going further. It was too dangerous from that point on and the marines didn't sound like they were up ahead anyway.

He didn't know where they were.

Law bent forward slightly, trying to catch his breath. His legs were starting to shake, but there wasn't time to stop.

He had to find those marines.

Maybe they'd returned to the beach. He'd see a whole team of people. They had to have their boats tied up somewhere.

Panting, the boy turned and retraced his steps.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _Crunch crunch_

Vergo's boots trudged through the frozen sand. The wine crate clinked beneath his arm. He traveled across the southern beachside of Minion in brisk strides, inches out of the reach of the waves.

He needed to hurry. There was no way the Family would be able to keep Doffy on the ship for much longer and who knew what he was seeing by this point.

The possibilities of what could happen if he got on the island were unmanageable. Doffy could drown. He could fall off a cliff. Get ambushed by Barrels and mowed down in gunfire.

Vergo's mouth thinned as his steps lengthened. He still couldn't believe he'd left the wine behind in favor of Rosinante's files. When had he become so partial to mistakes?

It was almost surreal in hindsight. When he first met the younger Donquixote, Vergo hadn't thought much of anything.

Just that Doffy dragged him around everywhere like he was a second shadow. And that their resemblance was uncanny, even for siblings.

There was no slumbering fury in Rosinante. No constant, burning hunger. The eyes, like desert sand or the bricks of a house, were admittedly just as striking, but that was all Vergo had found notable about him at the beginning.

Trebol's loathing had been practically bizarre. Vergo used to assume it was rooted in bruised ego, since the man's reverence for Emperor's Haki was so fanatic. Doffy's rejection of their offer must have smarted to no end.

If only Vergo had recognized then what he did now...this would all be a very different story.

"Hello?"

The quiet voice materialized eleven paced in front of him. Armament haki drew across his limbs, darkened them by a quarter, before Vergo registered what he was seeing. A small, cloaked figure was collapsed against a pile of driftwood.

Amber eyes blinked up at him beneath a white spotted hat, large as coins. The skin was pasty and the hair pressed against it was charcoal black.

A child.

"Are you a marine?" the boy said, nervous gaze on Vergo's issued trench coat, "I couldn't find…"

Vergo surveyed the trail behind him. There was a ribbon of little footprints that had travelled their unsteady way down the beach. They extended back to the hills inland, where the trail led up presumably to Barrels homebase. Quite a hike. An escaped prisoner maybe.

Vergo gave the child another cursory look. No time for this. Doffy needed his wine.

"Get off this island," he said, readjusting the crate, "Pirates here."

The child leaned forward, alarmed. His face was sweaty and red-tinged from exertion.

"Wait," he said, "Wait, my...dad, he's sick. Really sick. He needs help. Are your boats still here?"

Boats?

Vergo stared. The first thought to spring forth was that the Family had been spotted, before he swiftly dismissed the notion. The ship was on the opposite beach, a fair distance from shallow waters, and partially hidden behind an outcropping. Impossible to see from shore. Vergo recollected himself.

"Ah, I'd gotten separated," he said, softening his voice, "You've seen my comrades then?"

The child nodded hurriedly.

"Where?"

"I don't know. They were up the trail earlier, but now they're gone."

Hm. The deal had been arranged for tomorrow. What were the marines doing here already? It would not do for Vergo to be found. His dispatch report still said he was part of a circuit in Loguetown.

"Can you help?" the child said, "Please, he needs a hospital. Please help him."

Vergo regarded the child again carefully, assessing the situation. Getting caught now, on top of every other blunder he'd committed so far, would be unacceptable. His king did not deserve such a sub-par performance from him. The mere thought was intolerable. Drove him to a fury.

He made up his mind in a single, flickering beat.

And then the child was no longer a child to him, but a witness.

Vergo smiled and set down the crate.

"Of course I'll help him," he said, and though it really wouldn't matter in short time, added, "What do they call you, son?"

Relief bloomed over the small face, so intense his entire body seemed to wilt.

"Law," the child said.

Vergo's brow rose.

"An interesting name." He waved a hand down the shoreline, "Well, Law, let's hurry then, shall we?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Diez still didn't know the Ope Ope was missing.

Issac's cousin considered small mercies as he ran down the hill from the estate. The captain was too busy interrogating every breathing person left in the ravaged dining hall, and kicking at the corpses that'd been uncovered. The warehouse still burned madly, dry winds keeping it alive.

They would have time to hunt down whoever stole the fruit.

"Stop shouting," he snapped at Brass and Foder, who'd been puffing away behind him, hollering and making a scene. "Want to let the whole damn triangle know what's going on?"

"So what?" Foder grunted, "Who's gonna hear us, ya paranoid ass? No one'll be here till tomorrow night."

Isaac's cousin wasn't so sure. He'd been trying to rearrange his glimpses of the intruder into a proper image. Something about him had seemed frightfully familiar. He didn't like the feeling and it was creating a new eeriness in the night for him. He swore the wind had grown heavier. Carried a metallic tinge.

"What're we gonna do when we catch 'im, huh?" Brass said, jumped up, "Pull out his tongue, chop off his legs?" He was jittery from his latest shot of speed and spewed out several more horrific ideas while Foder egged him on.

Isaac's cousin ignored them, focusing harder on the wind.

Then Doflamingo Donquixote sprung out of the dark.

All Isaac's cousin processed at first was a flood of red. Red and feathers and snow and _red._ The ground thundered and they crashed off their feet, all three of them.

"Hey! What the fu—"

A sound sliced the air, so clean it was a whistle. Isaac's cousin didn't even recognize who had spoken, Foder or Brass, because both their heads went tumbling by him in the next second, _pitter-patter_ down the incline like they were running away.

He started screaming.

" _Silence."_

He stopped screaming.

Doflamingo Donquixote loomed over him, his breath misting out in a white, steady stream.

The suit he was wearing was splashed over with blood. Isaac's cousin stared at it, swallowing slowly. He noticed then that several of the men who'd scouted ahead had made no further noise.

"Better." A massive hand reached down and pulled him up by the collar, setting him on his rear like a toy by a child. "Isn't this a coincidence? I was in the neighborhood and couldn't help overhearing your _troubles._ Such irony. Someone stole from you the Ope Ope, which you had stolen from me. A bit funny, don't you think?"

He leaned in and there was not an inch of his smooth, still face that indicated it was remotely funny. Isaac's cousin whimpered, but didn't dare scoot away.

"I-I—"

"So who was it?"

A hand was around his throat abruptly. "The intruder. The lover of _irony_. Who was it?"

"I-I don't—"

Isaac's cousin choked. The fingers did not squeeze too hard though. Just enough to bring a broken neck to mind and make it abundantly clear how easy the prospect would be.

"No, none of that now," Doflamingo said, "I am having, hm, an _absolutely shitty_ day. So let's save all the sniveling for another time."

"But I don't remember!" he said, pitch high, "I wasn't close enough, really, really—"

The hand was gone. And in its place was the lightest of touches, lighter even than a butterfly's wing. The edge of string caressed the quivering bob of Isaac's cousin's throat. More of them fell around his wrists, his ankles, his thighs, his scalp.

"Tell me," Doflamingo said, "who it was."

The strings tightened, the curved edges of guillotines. A minute twitch began on Doflamingo's cheek and a nearby rock cracked in two. His voice frayed in the center.

" _Tell me who it was."_

Madness was in the air, bright and glittery.

Heart racing, Isaac's cousin shoveled through his recollection of the hour prior, every detail he could haul up. The features were a carousel of panic in his head at first, before he could meld them into a shadow. A figure.

The shape of a face.

Isaac's cousin blinked. He stared at Doflamingo and realized then what that needling familiarity had been.

"He...looked like you."

Every part except the glasses. And the silence. Isaac's cousin offered a frantic description of that vast and shivering silence as well. It had sunken into his marrow and left it clammy inside. He would never forget it.

Doflamingo did not move.

Isaac's cousin tugged on the strings. "That's all I know," he said, "It's the truth, I swear."

The strings did not budge. Isaac's cousin pulled harder.

"Please," he whispered, "Please _._ "

Something loosened just slightly. Doflamingo was as motionless as a cadaver. The jet of his breath had slowed. Isaac's cousin focused his strength in his right arm. "Let me go…" His scrawny hand pawed into his coat, past flannel and caught the grip of his gun.

 _"Let me go, you fucking monster!"_

He fired twice without aiming, but close enough that there was the moist tear of bullets into flesh. The strings had already gone slack and fell a beat before, but Isaac's cousin didn't notice. He scrambled to his feet, snow in his boots.

The Heavenly Demon stared at him. Through him.

He had just shot the Heavenly Demon.

Oh god.

Isaac's cousin turned tail and fled.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

("It's a left here," Law said, "through the town and around that bend."

The marine, 'Vergo-san' he'd said to call him, nodded and turned. His footsteps were very heavy in the snow, like cinder blocks thudding down on bones. And he was so rigidly straight that Law had to cling to the back of his coat lest he fall.

He hadn't even wanted to be carried. Had been trying to stand up again on the beach, when Vergo-san had bent down and lifted him onto his back. He wasn't as tall as Cora-san and he wasn't as warm and he smelled like disinfectant and had features that moved so minimally that he barely seemed alive.

A thimble of unease spilled in Law's belly. Doflamingo had always harped on about not talking to strangers...

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside.

Even if Vergo-san wasn't part of the marines Law had been looking for, he was still a marine.

And Law knew that a marine would definitely help Cora-san.

They rounded the bend.

Cora-san had dragged himself out of the cabin and to the stoop. He was wheezing slightly, back resting against the door frame and Law scowled, exasperated.

He was about to call out when Cora-san suddenly looked up.

And Vergo-san stopped so dead that the jolt made Law finally lose his grip and fall. The snow was soft on his back. It was cold. Law sat up and Vergo-san was walking towards the stoop already.

Cora-san was frozen and pale.

"Ro-si-nante," Vergo-san said, "It _has_ been a while."

Nothing else made sense after that.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

There was a hole in his left shoulder. Another in his left arm.

Doflamingo was pretty sure anyway. The fluttery tassels of pain seemed to be centralizing around those areas. He had not actually looked.

"Do you still remember," he said quietly, "that night with the candle?"

The ghost stood to his left, a dozen or so steps away. His hands were behind his back. He did not reply.

"I remember it," Doflamingo said, "I used to think about it sometimes when I was still looking for you."

Silence.

"You were so mad. First time I ever saw you that mad. Over a candle of all things."

Doflamingo's lips tilted a little before they fell again.

"And you said you would've traded me for anyone else in the world."

He rasped out a laugh, heaving to his feet, a hand over his injured arm. Blood sluiced down his fingertips and drizzled in the snow.

"So I suppose you really did mean those words then after all, huh, Rosi?"

The ghost looked up at him, unmoving.

"You left me here...for fourteen years. Without a goodbye or a look. Without anything. Like I wasn't even worth it. And then you come back out of nowhere, and make me think we're going to be together again, just so you could…"

He breathed, the jet of mist shuddering. He never finished the sentence.

"How," Doflamingo said, "could you do all of this to me? You of all people?"

Something sad drifted through those large, opaque eyes. His little brother. His Rosi. Always looking at him like...like...

Doflamingo's hands closed.

"I need you to say something."

The ghost did not move. Time went on, seconds, minutes, long enough that Doflamingo figured they were both simply never going to move from that spot again.

And then Rosi opened his mouth.

 _I'm sorry,_ it told him, that ghost on the beach.

That crumpled note in his pocket.

That smile on an old man's face, whose skull he'd buried beneath the Red Line.

 _I'm sorry._

* * *

xxx

* * *

 _The last document he burned was a transcript. A meeting between Rosinante and the Gorosei. It was fragmented and black-lined, but the sections remaining said this:_

-Your brother is unrepentant. He possesses no remorse in his soul. He cannot change.

-You're wrong.

" _It's almost pitiful." The Den Den shook its head as Vergo tossed the papers into the fire. "Poor, ill-fated thing. Just watch. Doffy's gonna be so much better without him. A whole new person."_

 _Vergo's frame stiffened._

" _What are you talking about?" he said, "I don't want him to be a whole new person."_

" _Behehe, easy, boy. I just meant that he'll finally be free." The Den Den looked at him. "He'll live up to his destiny. It's what we want."_

 _Vergo did not answer. He watched the fire, the scraps of paper browning and curling inside. The words were still in his head though, and he could not seem to scrape them out._

-I remember who he is. I know my brother. It doesn't matter what you think.

-I'm going back for what's mine.

-This whole fucking world can't stop me.

 _After the flames lowered and died out, Vergo gathered the ashy remnants into a neat and proper handful. He climbed the ladder along D Block's bubbling vat and tossed them into the swill of SAD._

 _From down below, Trebol giggled._

" _Long live the king, eh, Vergo?"_

 _Long live the king._

* * *

xxx

* * *

He was kicked in the ribs. Rosinante doubled over, hot pain exploding through his chest.

Colors swirled over his vision and his world melted. Rosinante scrambled away from the darkness.

 _Stay awake,_ he thought blankly, _stay awake Thekidthe kid no no stay awake_

His eyes wouldn't clear. The boot kicked him again.

Again again again. A steel toe.

Rosinante gasped, coughing wetly, something warm and bloody trickled down his mouth. Was that screaming? Where was he? Where was his brother? The mob was—

A black glove grabbed his shirt and yanked him upright.

Five of Vergo's faces spun in front of him, knifed shapes like the surface of a splintered mirror.

"Doffy," they said, "has been looking for you."

* * *

xxx

* * *

"You're sorry?"

Doflamingo blinked, eyes almost owlishly wide.

"You're…" He laughed. "...sorry?"

His hand dropped off his arm, the bullet holes free to bleed again.

"That's all you have to say?" he said, "Sorry?"

The ghost stared at him.

And the dull hum that'd been stuck in Doflamingo's head for months became a groan then, a screech—something jammed finally giving with a metallic whine. It snapped in two and spun wildly off into the dark and the entire world turned red, Red RED, and swallowed him whole without ceremony.

Doflamingo moved forward on numb legs.

"You… _marine_ -dispatched bastard. You traitorous, traitorous _snake._ " Veins suffocated the surface of his face. "YOU'RE SORRY?"

Strings hissed out of his hand.

" _ **NOT FUCKING YET."**_

A cage dropped out of the sky.


	29. decipula

**decipula - "cage"**

* * *

(The strings emerged in scattering white.

On their dilapidated ship, the Family gaped at the sky, mirroring the marines on the island's opposite shore. Diez Barrels and his remaining men craned their heads, standing amongst the ruins of their manor.

Long, sizzling lines speared open the night, hard and bright as diamonds. They plunged down paths that were straight and cruel.

Minion quaked when they struck the frozen ground. Waves unfurling against the ships, bursting apart along sterns and reefs.

Without a rail, half the Family clung onto Machvise's bulk to stay on board, while Senor Pink tore for the wheel. Out in open water, Mio and Hoshi ordered their respective teams low, wary of capsizing.

Frenzied voices carved the air.

The world began to splinter, crushed between sky and sea.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

( _A cage._

In the reflection of Tsuru's steely eyes, the strings stretched taut and arched into gleaming blades and wire. Her lips pursed, the length of her coat ruffling as the deckhands yelled and rushed about behind her.

The Den Den Mushis rang.

"Vice Admiral!" Mio and Hoshi shouted over each other, "Did you see—!"

"Hard to miss," Tsuru answered tightly. The dark body of the isle hunched beneath the cage. Though it resembled a wild animal only hours before, now it looked wizened and diminished. The leeched color of something imprisoned.

Doflamingo. It had to be.

Tsuru's hands curled into fists. She had planned on dealing with that boy personally after Mio and Hoshi returned. It hadn't occurred to her that he would seal off the island, or even possess the capability.

"Did either of you get caught?"

"No, ma'am, we—"

"Get back to the ship then."

The snails nodded and hung up. Tsuru folded her arms and tried to puzzle out why Doflamingo was here. The most obvious explanation was Barrels. Leaving the Ope Ope aside, the man had taken over certain islands of North Blue in the past few years—an ambitious project to topple the Family.

No doubt Doflamingo found him irritating, but…the whole maneuver seemed overkill. He already knew he outclassed Barrels. The man was no threat. Tsuru hadn't a doubt Doflamingo would've killed him ages ago otherwise.

It wasn't Barrels who could hurt him. Barrels was nothing to him.

Unease grew in the pit of Tsuru's stomach. She reached for the Den Den Mushi again.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Behind an outcropping bordering Minion's northern beach, the Family slowly picked themselves up.

"Is that," Jora said, "the Young Master's…?"

Senor Pink climbed down from the quarterdeck.

The handful of crewmen they'd brought along scampered about like trapped mice. Diamante and Pica ignored their questions about dropping anchor, both of them still gawking.

Trebol had vanished from the deck altogether. Had he fallen overboard? Pink considered the possibility with idle ambivalence.

"We're fine for now," he told the crewmen, "Just keep her even.")

* * *

xxx

* * *

(When the cage appeared, Sengoku was two-hundred kilometers from the triangle. His eyes were on a scroll of parchment, ink brush brandished over the page.

To avoid turning circles, he had set to penning a sound explanation to Kong and the Gorosei for his recent actions. Preferably one where he could convince them his riveted attention to this deal was actually disguised genius. At least so it didn't stink entirely of personal reasons.

Crumpled balls had filled the room to about half-mast.

When the Den Den Mushi rang, he was nearly relieved.

"Tsuru, have you—"

"Doflamingo is on Minion."

Sengoku's elbow jarred the ink tray. An ugly blot splashed onto a quarter-built sentence. The black seeped wide as Tsuru told him about the spiraling strings. How they'd woven themselves into an island-sized cage.

" _What?_ When could he—"

"But only half of why I called." The Den Den's mouth was grim. "Rosinante. Did he ever receive your message in the end?

Sengoku stiffened. "I'm assuming so. He was patched into the comm."

"And you're sure he's avoiding the triangle?"

"I'm sure he's avoiding me and that's about it," Sengoku said and pulled off his glasses to massage his eyes, "But he knows what I meant by it. The place will be overrun with pirates and there's that child to think about. What else would he have done?"

"Maybe seek it out anyway, old man," Tsuru snapped, "Because of the child."

Sengoku paused, glasses a quarter of the way on, before shaking his head. Certainly, he'd wrung his hands all morning over the same thought, but...

"No, he said he was looking for a plant."

"...A plant?"

"It only grew on the island. It's why they returned."

"For a plant?" The Den Den watched him, a measure of disbelief. "Sengoku, you realize their old island is where the Ope Ope had been buried."

Sengoku had not realized that. He ingested this new tidbit slowly. The spreading ink touched his knuckles. Some of it beaded off the desk corner.

"He's not on Minion, Tsuru."

"Are you telling me that or yourself?"

His hands curled. "Rosinante is reckless and stubborn and far, far too hard on himself. Always been stuck on this notion that he has something to atone for and it's led him down an unwise path at times." Sengoku cast a glance at the porthole, moonless and veiled by clouds. "But if there's one thing he isn't, it's a suicidal fool. He knows what I wanted him to do."

"And Doflamingo?"

"Must be after Barrels."

The snail frowned. "I wonder if you'd still conclude that so easily if you were here."

"What?"

"If you saw this cage," she said, "If you felt this air. How...furious he is."

Silence. Sengoku rolled the brush in his hand. The tips of his fingers were numb.

He was still collecting the courage to ask for elaboration when sudden voices rose on Tsuru's end. The announcement of boats. Young Mio and Hoshi crackled over the line. The Den Den's eyes slid sideways.

"The cage needs to come down," it said, "Hurry, Sengoku."

She hung up, before he could reply.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(The damn bars were everywhere.

Diez Barrels growled as another pair of blades shattered against them without success. Hammering at them with bullets and axes hadn't accomplished a thing either. He wanted to try an attack from the outside, but neither Isaac, Sid or Rotgut were answering his calls.

Were they still on Rubeck? They must've seen the cage appear, how could they still be fucking around?

"Where's Dory?" he said, swiveling around again to his original and most favored option. The Ryu Ryu no Mi in full form would surely knock the bars down...

All he got were head shakes and shrugs.

Barrels sawed his teeth back and forth. He'd murder that boy later.

An anxious wave of murmuring rose around the men. Barrels told them to shut up. They asked for what to do. He told them to shut up again. Someone wondered if was the marines and Barrels scoffed, because that was impossible. Someone wondered if it was the Donquixote Family.

Barrels scoffed a little less.

It was a subdued night. The winds had settled into a taciturn lull. Snow crunched underfoot like shards of china. One man, Horace, kept fidgeting with his gun and shifting his weight until Barrels barked at him to stop.

He glared at the other men in warning too, before it struck him how dwindled the crowd had become.

Where _were_ the rest of these bastards anyway?

Barrels tried to take stock of who'd gone where. There was Isaac's group of three to Rubeck. The ten men squad who'd been patrolling near Minion's quarry town prior to the explosion. Big Chacko and twenty others they'd found in smithereens after the blast.

Then finally the twenty-four who'd gone searching for the rat bastard that'd been responsible. They'd disappeared down the hill almost an hour ago. Isaac's cousin had been among them. Barrels still couldn't recall the name.

He hadn't heard from them either, now that he was thinking on it.

The ones he had with him were Horace, Alfie, Crust, Gimp, Pedro and Roach. Six members out of his original seventy.

And where the fuck was Dory?

A trickle of fear tried to worm its path through Barrels' gut. His arm tightened around the Ope Ope's box.

"Do you smell blood?" Crust said suddenly, as if it was possible to smell anything.

The air was a quagmire of melted linens and paste. The stenches had shambled out of the charred warehouse and gone on to permeate the hill. Everything stunk. He couldn't have detected in it something as distinct as blood.

Which is why he almost dropped the box and smashed his foot when he turned around, towards the glade at the manor's rear.

Where Doflamingo stood thirty feet away on the ice-slicked path.

"Oh..." said Crust.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(When the cage appeared, Vergo turned towards the sky for 6.2 seconds and knew it was Doffy. His wrath permeated the air. It sang through the bars. The Family had stalled him for even less time than Vergo had anticipated.

" _Stop it, stop it!"_ Tiny hands thudded against his arm, yanking at his sleeves. _"No, no, let him go! Cora-san!"_

Wild, tear-streaked eyes bore into Vergo's. The child, Law. He'd forgotten about him. Per recent turn of events, it was deducible he was the successor Doffy had spoken of. Corazon the Third.

And to think he'd been preparing to kill him.

No particular strength behind it, Vergo swung his arm. The child went flying into a hut wall and crumpled into the snow.

"Behave yourself," Vergo said, and made a belated note to switch around those two actions in the future.

He blinked when a far larger hand seized his wrist. The blaze in the eyes that looked up at him nearly gave him pause, alive and murderous and foreign. Rosinante's grip tightened and Vergo's mouth went flat at the pain, his bones crackling against each other.

"Still awake, are we?" He nodded at Law. "Do not fret. Boy's merely stunned."

He rammed his knee into Rosinante's chest again and made those eyes fly wide. There was a wheezing croak of a sound. Agony warped Rosinante's face and the hand released him, hanging limp in the air. His eyes rolled.

Blacking out from a mere love-tap? How curious. Up close, Rosinante's pallor was sallow, with deep exhausted circles beneath his eyes. He'd lost visible weight and though Vergo hadn't struck him in the face, blood ran thick and profusely from his nose, showing no signs of slowing.

Law _had_ said his "father" was ill, hadn't he?

"Seems this past year's been a bit rough with you." Vergo dragged the body closer and Rosinante's head lolled as he resurfaced, blinking sluggishly. "Doffy always mentioned you were atrocious at taking care of yourself." He sighed. "Not that he actually has room to talk."

A dirty sill ghosted out of his memories then. His own hands wrapping welted fingertips. The messy slosh of that first bottle.

 _I need to find my brother_ and _Where is my brother?_ and _Was it me, Vergo? Was I wrong?_

He punched Rosinante. Red spittle flecked the side of his jaw. Rosinante hacked, as his frame convulsed. Bloody saliva strung down his chin and Vergo marveled at why Doffy had never been able to let go of this pathetic, half-dead shadow when it had so easily let go of him.

"You had such nerve swanning back here."

Rosinante's head snapped to the left as he was punched again. Vergo yanked him close.

His anger, unlike his king's, came in the more insipid form of a hangnail. It irritated and appalled. It remained persistently infected.

"North Blue, the Underworld, Punk Hazard, deals with Yonkou, five-hundred crewmen, the Family." His fists clenched, the stained leather taut. "For fourteen years, he got whatever pleased him, no matter how big or small or great or terrible. Were you, his so-called _blood_ , ever able to offer him the things that we could?"

He was raising his voice. With a conscious effort, Vergo lowered it, perturbed by how loud he had gotten.

Rosinante lifted his head weakly. His gaze, blue-black and swelling shut, peered into Vergo with loathing.

This spineless leech that had spread in Doffy like a tumor. Vergo wanted to _cut_ him out, but restrained the urge. It was not his place to kill Rosinante. It was not his right. Doffy would never be free of him if he didn't shuck off this chain himself.

So.

Vergo pulled aside his coat and slid out the bamboo staff that'd been strapped to his belt. Armored haki swept across his torso, shiny and black.

"I'll prep the knife instead," he said and raised the staff up.

The Den Den Mushi rang.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

( _Dangerous things wore red._ The thought scuttled across Barrels's skull as something wet and clumpy slid past his ear.

In the snow, Alfie and Horace lay with their brains blown out, smoke still twisting from their guns.

Gashes flayed the ground where they had been standing only a minute ago, before they'd suddenly lifted their magnums and exchanged potshots. The other three men had scrabbled backwards, bits of brain matter stuck to their beards and scarves.

Barrels looked at Doflamingo.

Thirty feet away still, Doflamingo looked back.

The strings slung out from his body at every angle, crimson beads collecting in them like water in a cobweb. He crooked his right hand.

Barrels' four remaining men lifted their guns.

"What?" Gimp whispered, as Pedro and Crust yelped.

"Captain," Roach said, "W-We're not…"

"Wait!" Barrels said, as four muzzles pressed towards his face, arranged like spokes in a wheel, "wait, wait, wait…" He held out the Ope Ope chest. "T-This is about the fruit right? This here? 'S what you came for?"

Roach made a startled noise in his throat. "Diez—"

"I'll give it to you." Barrels forced on a shaky grin. "I-It's yours, alright? You win this time."

Doflamingo glanced at the chest without recognition or interest. His face was blank and white, wreathed in veins, strikingly inhuman.

 _If anyone's a monster in these fucking waves,_ Barrels's own voice squeaked at him, _it's me._

Sweat rolled down his neck. In the dire interest of preserving patience, he opted to skip the spiel and fumbled at the box instead.

The latches were rusted and failed twice to unlock. When Barrels bent to check them, the mouth of Crust's gun held parallel to his eyeball. Barrels did not breath, releasing it all at once when the locks finally clicked open.

"Diez," Roach said again, "the fruit isn't—"

"We'll clear out of North Blue," Barrels said, as he lifted the lid, "T-This was just a mistake, an entire mistake. No hard feelings right? Between captains…"

The chest was empty.

Diez Barrels went still. He surveyed the four corners blankly, waiting for the Ope Ope to re-materialize.

Roach said, "The intruder after the explosion...h-he took...we were gonna tell ya..."

Barrels raised his head. Spidery fingers stretched in the dark.

The gentle bray of unsheathed daggers and swords filled the silence, tugged from the scabbards of corpses. They rose into the air, twinkling blades hung on twinkling threads, pointed at the throats of Diez Barrels' men.

Gimp whispered a prayer. Crust and Pedro wept.

"Diez, you son of a _bitch_ ," the latter said, "what the fuck did you get us into?"

Four hammer blocks were pulled back.

Stars flooded the surface of Doflamingo's glasses. Long slavering teeth swam between the lights.

He had never spoken a word to them. Not one, even as the strings fell.

And yet his fury.

How it echoed.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Law regained consciousness in dribbling increments. The field of searing white around him returned to snow. The black dome above became the sky. There were bars dragging through it now, like scratch marks down a chalkboard.

Two blurry figures shifted in his vision a few feet away. Law stared dully at them, a clump of snow weighing down his hat, a fractal melting on his eyelash. One body dangled listless in the grip of the other. Golden. Tall.

The present rammed into place. Law flew upright and almost crashed back onto his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, impatiently waiting for his skull to stop pounding, before he opened them again.

Cora-san hung like a ragdoll, head tilted back, hood about to slide loose. His nose was bleeding again. His whole face and neck was mottled with bruises.

Something giant and metallic held the front of his coat. It had a black bob cut and shades and made even Cora-san look frail. The issued coat of a marine fluttered around its burly waist.

Law planted his palms on the frozen ground. The chill bit into his skin.

He would've ran at them again without another thought (another minute, another second), if the string hadn't sped towards him then. Almost flying in its urgency, it zipped across the snow and encircled him.

A soft blue glow enveloped his body and Law's eyes widened as the world shimmered, wobbling and liquid as if he were peering through a waterfall. When he stood, his feet were soundless upon the snow, draped beneath the Nagi Nagi's cloak.

The string retracted into Cora-san's hand, vanishing. The staff in Vergo's whooshed above him. "I'll prep the knife instead."

Law tried to scream.

And jumped one bare second later, when the Den Den Mushi rang.

Vergo came to a violent halt. For a moment, the ridiculous call of the snail blathered into the silence as he stood there, muscles rippling, before he slowly reached into his pocket. His mouth became a terse line after glancing at the number and his thumb hovered an extra beat over the speakers, before he pressed down.

"Corazoooooooon."

Trebol's voice wormed through the quarry town. Through the bony trees. Through the hideous dark.

Vergo tossed Cora-san abruptly into the snow. He gasped at the rough landing and a hand twisted the fabric over his chest. His breaths came out strangled. Hard, wheezing pants.

The sound terrified Law more than Vergo ever could.

"Behehe, it has been _ages_. Taking off like that out of the blue, big brother _is_ a bit vexed with you."

Beneath a fringe of blood-stained hair, a single brick-dust eye met Law's, bleary with pain.

 _Find a weapon,_ it said.

Or maybe it was actually, _Run._

Law decided on the first one. It made Cora-san sound less like an _idiot_. He hurried back into the hut.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

From the gore-slathered rubble of Barrels's manor, Doflamingo advanced down the hill. The spine of the island curled and crimped beneath his feet.

One flickering lantern pooled on the ground. In it stretched the contorted remains of Diez Barrels and his six-manned crew.

"And you still wonder why I was done with you."

Doflamingo breathed, gripping his shattered left arm.

"You're horrible, because you're furious. You're furious, because you're horrible." The ghost rocked on its heels. "Do you ever plan to be more than a broken wheel spinning?"

Doflamingo walked past it.

"Has it gotten you anywhere, brother?"

He staggered his way through the trees.

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Four miles offshore, Tsuru made Sid the Deserter repeat his experience on Rubeck in fine detail.

Admittedly, the description sounded like Doflamingo to anyone who didn't know better—titanic height, long hard hands, golden hair.

Red eyes too, though that didn't sway the needle one way or the other. She'd never seen the boy without his glasses. And even more unhelpfully, the feathered coat had been too dark to discern in the twilight.

The strings did throw her off for a while. Rosinante's Nagi Nagi was a sphere last she recalled, shimmery and blue. Certainly though, it was possible to reshape one's Devil Fruit with enough practice and inclination.

Tsuru paced the deck, the rest of the marines paying puzzled audience. The cage bars warped upon the polished lengths of cannons and rifles. Mio and Hoshi offered suggestions that she was overthinking and quickly buttoned their lips when she scowled at them.

It wasn't that she didn't hope so, but the Donquixote boys were two fingers shy of identical. Was it such an improbable thing the deserter had confused them?

"Is that all?" she demanded, "Anything else about him you can remember?"

Manacled and draped in a blanket, Sid shrank beneath her gaze. A tangible anxiety exuded from him as he watched her pace and his eyes had occasionally flitted to Minion, ruddy features growing nauseous.

"You can't leave me here," he said instead of answering, and Hoshi glared.

"Watch your tone."

"I can't be left here."

"I said—"

"There was also a kid."

Tsuru whipped around.

Hastily, Sid described how his other crewmate, Rotgut, had brutalized the child and got himself killed for it. That the last he'd seen of Doflamingo had been two hours ago, child tucked in one arm as he drove their dinghy into the cold heart of Minion.

"Funny," he said, with a nervous chuckle, "That he bothered, y'know. I heard he could fly."

Then he trailed off and stared up at her with great tentativeness. Like he wondered if the detail had been relevant.

"I want a boat in that water," said Tsuru, "in the next ten seconds."

Mio and Hoshi scrambled.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(They waited for him.

Gladius hovered at the gunwale, scanning the beach and hills, while Machvise and Lao G stood uncomfortably against the mastings. Near the starboard side, Jora wrung her gloved hands, surveying the dunes with their winding trails.

The gale of the ocean snapped and howled, but none of them moved, fashioned to their spots with the undying devotion of hounds.

Thirty minutes had past, entering a quarter to midnight, when Gladius suddenly turned to the Family, perturbed.

"That's not a marine boat, is it?"

Jora paled. Machvise and Lao immediately began squinting towards the horizon, as though their eyesight could be any better than Gladius's. Pink swung over the spyglass and swore.

Five hundred meters out and coming from open sea, a white skiff boat slid through the waters, rounding the edge of the cage. Emblazoned on the flank and sails was the marine insignia in navy blue paint.

The vessel glided along the perimeter, perhaps testing for weak points of entry. A pair of steely eyes were narrowed upon the bars.

"It's Tsuru," Pink said, and a collective stiffening lurched over the deck.

"Fucking great," said Diamante and plopped onto a crate.

"What will we do?" Lao G demanded at him, "Did Corazon set us up?"

"That traitor," Gladius said, bristling at the name. His knuckles tightened over his holster, while Jora and Machvise's shoulders fell and Pink tossed his cigarette over the side. Trebol had shown them the file of Marine 01746. Heavily redacted. Each page stamped full of confidential warnings. If the truth had existed anywhere...

Pink sighed. Though finding Baby on that marine ship had all but settled the question for most of them, a small part of Pink had remained hopeful.

He had liked Corazon. His sap and his sarcasm and his mercy. He'd been the only one to let Pink ramble on for an hour once about Russian and Gimlet, considering the photos with his strange thoughtful eyes.

It was disappointing.

"They stopped," Lao said, "Pink, what are they doing?"

The prow of the marine boat had drifted the barest few meters into firing range. Tsuru had turned sharply towards the rockier end of the coast, one hand tight on the boat's rim. The rest of the marines clutched unstrapped rifles, some of them white-knuckled.

Confused, Pink swung the spyglass towards the cage once more.

And startled Machvise a minute later as he rushed past, climbing onto the bench for a better view.

"Pink?"

He ignored him, attention glued to the beach.

Among the protruding rocks stood a silhouette, staggering slightly in the snow-dusted sand. Spilled feathers dotted its wake, getting swallowed up in foam. It moved with noticeable difficulty.

"The Young Master's on the beach."

In a swarm, the Family gathered around him. Jora covered her mouth. "I think he's injured."

Gladius clambered onto the bench as well, almost knocking against his shoulder. Without preamble, he switched off his safeties and aimed at the boat. Pink shoved his arms back down.

"Hold on."

"They hurt him."

"No, they didn't. They're outside the cage just like us," Pink's hands tightened. "Wait. Don't give away our position."

An incredulous glare was shot at him. Pink didn't relent.

"The best way we can help him is to stay out of sight and have the ship ready for a quick getaway if he needs it." He pushed the guns further down. "And that won't be possible, if you signal them right over, capiche?"

Gladius looked disgruntled. He didn't holster his guns nor did his fingers relax against the grips. For the moment though, he remained still.

Silently, the Family watched.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(There was no escape from the cage.

They had gone down a third of the island's north side, checking along crevices and tidepools for any gaps. Around the obsidian crown of a cliffside, the strings had even extended into the surrounding water, hooked deep into the seabed.

Tsuru grit her teeth, brows almost knotted together. She ordered the boat turned around for the south side. The wind from the mountain swept down, carrying the salt and stone of the hills, the algae-tinged snows of the dunes. Simple, muted smells like dust mites in a butterfly net.

Maybe it was what made his appearance all the more prominent—that sudden waft of wine and storms smothering beneath iron.

Doflamingo stalked down the beachside, pale and spindly as a wraith. His fine clothes were torn and stained. Blood dotted the corners of his jaw. He bore such savage resemblance to a starving beast that Mio and the cadets sucked in frightened breaths.

But he passed them without a look, moving as if possessed through the rocks. Tsuru's lips thinned. Where he was going, she could only guess.

"Doflamingo, wait."

He did not. Tsuru raised a brow. She gestured at the rowers to align with his stride.

"I said wait."

Still nothing, as if he'd hardly noticed them. Tsuru rested a hand on the rim of the boat, knuckles tightening.

"Look at me when I speak to you, boy."

And finally he stopped. Another feather slipped from his coat, drifting off into the tide. Doflamingo turned around, staring at her through the cage.

There were no questions or anger over why she was here. No alarm that he'd been caught. His expression was so deeply calm that it was outright transparent.

"Tsuru-san," he said after a long while, voice scraping the silence. He cradled his arm.

Tsuru slid into the seat of the prow. "Stay there," she said, sternly and powerlessly in turn.

But he listened, waiting there as white shudders skittered past his lips on every exhale. A jolt of concern rushed through Tsuru's veins.

She motioned for the girls to push closer, as close as could be dared to the alien-white bars. Intuition warned her not to touch them and on closer inspection, she saw them glint like long thin blades. Each one trembled on a minute level, brimming with raw Emperor's Haki. It certainly explained the heaviness in the air.

"You are injured," she said softly, observing his ravaged suit, "Open the cage. Let me help you."

He didn't move. Blood drizzled patterns in the snow around his shoes.

"Like you helped Corazon."

Tsuru's eyes widened a fraction. He knew.

She took in the fact quickly, pushing aside the immediate urge to interrogate him. Looking at the veins in his cheeks, there was no time for questions of how.

"Doflamingo, it isn't what you think."

He shook his head.

"No, listen to me. Your brother—"

"Brother?" Doflamingo said, with the air of someone half-dazed, "I don't have a brother. I have an abhorrent traitor who _fucked_ around with me for four and a half years. Played me like his fiddle. Made me into his fool."

A vein jumped beneath his eye. Rocks cracked around his feet.

"Is that what you refer to," he asked, "when you say 'brother?'"

And his wrath was so scalding black that it quivered in the night like a trapped animal. Snarling and frenzied and wounded. For a moment, Tsuru could only stare at him, unable to think of anything to say.

"That isn't true," she finally managed, "Rosinante gave up everything to come back for you. He had a whole file, he was going to—"

"I've heard enough about his _file_." A click rang stark in the air. "And him in general."

Tsuru's eyes flashed downward at the gleam of gold, the serpentine handle and antique frame. Carefully, she lifted her head back up.

"Child, you are making...a very, very big mistake."

Doflamingo said nothing. The flintlock hung at his side.

"Ma'am," Mio whispered, newly alarmed by the sight of the gun. The cadets shifted, hands moving to their weapons.

"No." Tsuru halted them. "Do _not._ ")

* * *

xxx

* * *

("They have rifles," Gladius said and Lao G wheeled the cannon around, Jora hesitantly helping him.

"Stop," Pink snapped, "Look at that thing he just dropped from the sky. Do you really think he needs our help?"

"Injured?" Machvise wondered, as if he thought he was being helpful, "Against old Tsuru?"

Pink threw him an exasperated look.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Think for a moment," Tsuru said, "Please think, boy." Her nails dug into the boat's side. "I know this cannot be what you want."

Doflamingo's lip curled, his teeth appearing. "You presume to know much."

He took a sudden step forward.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

("They're too close," Gladius snarled, "They'll shoot him."

He tried to yank his arms free, but Pink remained firm. "Nobody's shooting anybody."

"Pink," Jora said, "He might be right. Maybe we should send out a warning." Machvise and Lao G nodded.

Behind them, Diamante and Pica watched the beach blankly, the latter mired in a swill of horror and realization.

"Diamante," he said, "what will happen once Corazon's gone?"

Diamante shifted, wood groaning beneath his weight. He was gray-skinned and still vaguely in shock. "To...us, you mean?"

"To Doffy."

A pause. "Why? What do you think is gonna happen?"

"I don't know. Will he still be Doffy?"

Pink froze. For a single moment, his grip loosened as he turned to glance at them.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(In hindsight, Tsuru did not believe he had intended anything by it. Perhaps he had only meant to shout, god knowing he likely needed it. Or perhaps a part of him had been wanting to be talked down.

Tsuru did not flinch either way. She wasn't afraid of him. She knew him. And in a way, she was here for him too.

So it was Mio in the end, whose sole previous encounter had been tempered by the company of Rosinante and children and moonlight, that lost her nerve and raised her gun.

The barrel pointed between his eyes.

"Step back—")

* * *

xxx

* * *

("Young Master!" Jora and Machvise shouted. Gladius wrenched out of Pink's hold in a burst of aggression. He pulled his gun.

" _Get the fuck away from my captain._ "

He fired.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

(Tsuru yanked Mio forward by the collar, barely in time as the shot whizzed past her scalp. It hit the water, popping like a firecracker. A rain of bullets followed.

Down the coastline, a colossal ship groaned out from behind an outcropping.

"The Family!" a cadet screamed and the rifles flew up.

Gunfire snapped the air, violently rocking the vessel. One girl yelped as she was struck in the shoulder, thrown into another girl behind her. They almost toppled into the sea, before Tsuru managed to snatch them. The boat was an open target. They would be peppered in another minute or two.

"Go!" Mio yelled at the rowers, taking up a position herself, "Back to the ship! We'll give 'em something to be excited about!"

The cadets flew to obey, the boat pulling from the rocks. Tsuru twisted around and locked gazes with Doflamingo one final time. A million words flooded her head, tumbling out like keys from a drawer. She scrambled through them for the right one, something that could hope to sway him, even if a little—the addenda, the children, if you had met him in Vale, if you had seen him those fourteen years before, you would not, you would never—

He needed to know it all and yet not one of them was singularly important enough. None of them held the gravity she wished to convey. None of them illustrated the consequence.

Tsuru leaned forward and looked upon the face of a monster. Of a boy she had failed to find in the North Blue.

"You will regret it," she said, "for the rest of your life. That I can promise you."

He stared at her through the bars. Then beyond at his ship and his crew.

"Goodbye, Tsuru-san," he said and disappeared into the hills.)

* * *

xxx

* * *

When the cage appeared, Rosinante was the only one in the entire triangle that hadn't been looking. He was too busy riding the carousel of agony.

At least a couple of his ribs were cracked and his right eye was almost swollen shut. His whole face felt like a broken window from how hard Vergo had punched him, one tooth dangerously close to wiggling loose.

And his chest was on _fire_ , a knife of pressure embedding deeper with each gasp. The snow was barely there beneath his spine. His senses sieved the world through in fragments.

Vergo's look swirling full of hatred.

Trebol's leer bleeding through a snail.

Law rushing into a hut, instead of _running for his life_ (god, that brat, Rosinante didn't know why he tried).

A distant crash fizzled through the speaker, several more following in succession. Trebol gave a low snigger. "Appears we've been found."

"The marines?" Vergo said, sneering at Rosinante again upon the word.

"The crone, I'm hearing." The Den Den grinned at him. "Nene, did you think she'd come and save you?" Its eye stalks curled. "Just look at this cage, big enough to swallow an island. Feel that scorch in the air, like fire against our throats. Minion will soak in the blood of Diez Barrels."

Trebol sniggered. "Have I not made a magnificent creature out of your brother?"

Rosinante struggled to lift his head, face rolling to the side to glare all the wells of his despisal at him.

"Behehe, I see that family resemblance showing through. Still feeling sour at us for all those years ago then. You ran away of your own choosing, Corazon, and you're perfectly aware of it. Don't waste everyone's time."

Rosinante faltered. "I…" His voice was hoarse, a blood bubble popping. "No...you tricked me…"

"Tricked? Did we move your legs? Did we compel you from that stoop and into the arms of marines? Poor, ill-fated thing, you know well why you ran."

 _Run away, Rosinante._

 _He doesn't need you._

 _He doesn't love you._

 _Run away._

Rosinante's eyes dimmed. He coughed again, body rattling slightly, and said no more.

The snail laughed. "Now don't make such a pathetic face either. It'll tug at my heartstrings!" It grinned at Vergo like they were participating together in a marvelous joke. Vergo looked back in disgust.

"Well, you mustn't choke _too_ hard on your guilt. You were playing against the House after all." Trebol's voice lowered, something menacing with glee. "And you're so, so easy to bluff, let me tell you. Again and again. The island. Little Law. Your father."

Rosinante looked back up.

"What?"


End file.
